


Two White, Two Black, One Pink

by Anonymous



Series: starkerforlife6969 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Baker Peter, Birthdays, Blow Jobs, Brat Peter, College Student Peter, Dancing, Everybody loves Peter, Fainting, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, More tags to be added, Over stimulation, PTSD, Peter is over 18, Presents, Smut, Sugar Baby Peter, This is something else, Threesomes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Watch out for that, Wow, and a GUN, and by love i mean, ballerina peter, body guard Bucky, body guard steve, descriptions of violence, gardener peter, has a boner for, he can be both, mafia boss tony, mob moss tony, ohh attempted kidnapping, peter is a twink, slut peter, spoilt peter, sweetheart peter, they have a dog called jarvis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-10 15:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17429000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter has three (maybe one day: four) men in his life who mean the world to him.





	1. Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from this amazing aesthetic made for this which you should check out [here](https://professional-benaddict.tumblr.com/post/181989173221/bc-starkerforlife6969-mafia-au-with-bosstony)
> 
> Another amazing piece is this artwork, which just honestly gives you everything you need to know about this fic. Check that out [here if you want to see what Peter looks like in this fic](https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com/post/182027839755/c6h12o6-work-oh-god-miss-you-on-my-lips-its) , you won't regret it.

Steve’s first day as Tony Stark’s body guard is…eventful, to say the least. 

He’d known, obviously, that being a Mafia boss was dangerous- that’s the whole reason he’s here- but he hadn’t expected the brutality. 

They’re in Tony’s mansion, and Steve’s blown away. He’d known the man had made money, obviously, but this is…it’s a life of luxury and beauty that is just all the more jarring with the violence he’s watching. They’re in the main foyer where the floor is all marble and gleaming white and Steve watches as man bound and gagged on the floor bleeds a little more into the pool of blood he’s kneeling in. 

He’s not averse to violence, but this is getting a little tough to watch, if he’s honest. He’s not sure if Tony is trying to set him an example, show him what happens if he ever betrays his new boss, which Steve won’t do ever. So, he just stands by the wall, hands folded in front of him and shoulders squared as he watches: unflinching. 

Tony is specked here and there with drops of blood- splatter that’s landed on his arms and hands. He’s in a white tank top and dark trousers and he looks completely different to the man Steve saw this morning- the man in his tailored three piece suit with dark sunglasses and big cigar. That man had looked like he could kill you with a well placed word and a sharp smile. 

This man looks like he’ll beat you to death without a second glance; muscles tight and coiled and knuckle duster shiny on his fingers. He’s sweaty from exertion, but doesn’t look anywhere near done yet (which, wow, it’s been almost two hours) when out of the blue- 

the doorbell rings. 

And not the doorbell at the gate, but the doorbell for the large, double panel oak doors a few feet away from them. Tony looks up in surprise, and Steve reaches for the gun in his waistband. The man on the floor chokes a little in what sounds like desperate hope. 

“Answer it,” Tony orders, “they must’ve been buzzed in. It’s probably nothing.” 

Steve keeps a hand on his gun anyway and wonders who the hell buzzed someone in. Is there someone else in the house? The mansion _is_ huge, maybe there are other people here. He pulls open the door carefully, not all the way, shielding the blood and mess from view,  and stares uncomprehendingly at the pizza delivery girl. 

She’s still a teenager, and very clearly knows where she is. She looks nervous beyond belief, but she’s holding the pizza box out like an offering. “Peter Parker, extra large pepperoni pizza?” She stammers, and Steve cocks his head. 

“Yeah, that’s us,” Tony calls and Steve reaches to take the box. It’s warm and heavy like a pizza, so it probably is one. Not a secret bomb or something. He nods at her, and she turns and races away as quickly as she can. 

He closes the door and locks it, and turns to Tony with the pizza, unsure what to do. 

He doesn’t need to ask, as it turns out, because then the sound of footsteps comes and he looks up at the huge, grand staircase. 

A young man, a fucking _beautiful,_ young man, comes skipping down the steps and Steve’s pretty sure his eyes are now glued to him forever. He’s got milky skin, and there’s so much of it on display (not that he’s complaining), he’s barefoot which is so- so vulnerable, so at home- and he’s wearing an oversized, bright pink silk short-sleeved top, so large on him that it trails down to around his hips. As he moves, the shirt does too, and Steve can see flashes of what looks like white lace panties on underneath. 

Fuck. _Fuck._ He tries to drag his eyes away because otherwise he’ll be the next one being beaten to death in Stark’s reception room. The boy is obviously Stark’s. Can’t _not_ be. Not with the silk shirt and the big brown eyes and the fluffy brown hair. Not with those cupid bow lips and cheeky little smile. Not with how comfortable and happy and at home he so obviously is.

“My pizza!” He exclaims happily, his voice is so fucking young, so boyish and innocent and out of place in this violent scene. He’s clapping his hands as he reaches the final step before he pauses. He looks at the blood on the floor and frowns; upset. But not upset at the sight of it, upset that he can’t get to his pizza without getting his feet wet. At the bloody scene before him he seems- blasé. But the lack of pizza- that’s the cause for the frown and the pout. 

Steve would kill anyone and do anything to make that frown go away. 

Tony takes the box out of Steve’s hand, and Steve manages to yank his gaze away before anyone notices. 

“Here, baby,” Tony murmurs, and Steve almost has to do a double take because that voice is deep and warm and almost welcoming. Where’s the dispassionate torturer? “You hungry?” 

Peter takes the box and perches right there on the steps, his legs spreading to give the most delicious view as he pops open the box and inhales. He lets out an obscene groan. “Yeah, I didn’t have time for lunch, Professor Macleash kept us in.” He reaches for a slice that’s bigger than his head and takes a bite; eyes fluttering shut. 

Tony smiles, all soft and Steve can’t wrap his mind around it. “You should have something more nourishing than pizza, sweetheart. I can have someone run out and get you anything you want.” 

Peter shakes his head, his mouthful, and he peers at the trembling man on the floor. “Who’s that, daddy?”

Daddy. Jesus, Steve can feel himself getting hard. But there’s so much blood, there’s blood everywhere. This is all so wrong. Tony gives a noncommittal shrug. “Nobody important.”

Peter pouts. “Important enough not to say hello when you came home.” He says accusingly, taking another bite until he’s just holding the crust of the pizza slice. He must be hungry, he’s practically devoured it. “No hello kiss.” 

Tony walks right through the pool of blood and leans down, tilting his boy’s chin up to place the lightest, sweetest kiss on his lips, and then both his cheeks, and then his forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.” He says sincerely, like he- like he genuinely cares. Like he actually feels bad about hurting this pretty little thing’s feelings but doesn’t feel bad about shooting a guy in the kneecaps. “It’s been a helluva day.” 

The boy flourishes under the attention, before taking a bite of the crust. He beams. “So good,” he groans, “cheese _in_ the crust. Here, you have to try some,” he breaks off a little piece and presses it to Tony’s mouth until the older man’s lips part, and then the boy’s fingers are moving to caress Tony’s cheeks lovingly. It feels intimate. Steve would look away except the boy’s too goddamn gorgeous. 

Tony chews thoughtfully, tipping his head in acquiescence. “Not bad.” He sighs, like this is an argument he and Peter have had often and he’s just had to concede. It’s so fucking domestic. 

“I’ll save you some,” Peter promises. 

Tony shakes his head. “You eat up, baby,” he insists, cupping Peter’s jaw in his large hand. That hand could fucking _crush_ that boy. 

Peter hums with a shrug, before looking around Tony,  his eyes landing on Steve. “Oh,” Peter murmurs in surprise, sucking the grease off his fingertips sinfully and his eyes sparkle as they drag up and down Steve’s body. The bodyguard resists the urge to puff his chest out and preen. “Who’s that?” 

Tony looks over at Steve who doesn’t quite get his eyes away in time. Fuck. Shit. Is he gonna die now? “That’s Steve, baby. My new bodyguard.” 

Peter’s cheeks go all rosy. “I like him,” he whispers loud enough to be heard. 

Tony stands up and turns to Steve more appraisingly. “Well, Rogers, you heard him. What do you think of my boy?” 

Okay, this is…this must be some sort of test. He feels small under the weight of their stares; suddenly the centre of attention. He clears his throat. “Very beautiful, Sir.” He manages tightly. 

Tony smirks, and it’s goddamn frightening. “He is, isn’t he?” He settles his hand on the back of Peter’s neck. “Absolutely gorgeous.” Peter beams under the praise, leaning into Tony’s touch, but his eyes are still on Steve; eyeing him like he’s something to eat. “My boy’s taken a shine to you, Rogers. What do you have to say about that?” 

It’s a test. It’s a fucking test. “It’s-It’s very flattering, Sir.” 

Peter smiles; so sweet and demure and fucking tempting. “Do you like pizza, Steve? With cheese in the crust?”

His throat is dry, and he manages a small nod- eyes flickering rapidly between Peter and Tony. 

Peter gets to his feet. “Would you like to come to my room with me and eat some pizza? I can show you these new panties my daddy bought me. They’re very pretty.” 

He watches as Tony kisses Peter’s temple. “Even prettier on you.” He growls, to which Peter rolls his eyes and nuzzles into Tony’s hair. 

Steve can hear his heart pounding in his ears. The man on the floor lets out a particularly loud sob. “I…” he turns to Tony, struggling to come up with the right response. “I…”

“You better be more confident in bed, Rogers, or my boy won’t be cumming at all.” 

Right. Fuck. Right. He nods, drawing in a deep breath as he looks at Peter. “I’d love to join you, Peter.” He says, as politely as he can. 

Peter beams, picking up the pizza box and holding out his hand. Feeling like a man lured in by a siren, he crosses the sea of blood to take Peter’s soft hand in his own coarser one. The boy smells like expensive perfume and strawberry body lotion and Steve _wants_ bad. 

But- “Mr Stark,” He turns around worriedly, “will you be okay without me?” 

Tony looks amused. “I’ll manage for a few hours, Rogers.” 

Peter tugs more insistently, but looks happy. “You care about my daddy,” he purrs, “I like that. Lemmie say _thank you.”_

Steve lets himself hope that maybe, _maybe_ he’s passed the test. 

A thought occurs to him suddenly: if he doesn’t make Peter cum, is he gonna die? 


	2. How to fall in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve corrects some assumptions and falls in love.

Steve has been Tony Stark’s bodyguard for a week.

It’s been…well, not normal, but what he’d expected really. When you sign up to protect the leader of the Mafia, you’re prepared for a lot of bad things. His first day on the job had involved witnessing the three hour long torture of a man. His first day had also involved someone else- someone remarkable.

Because as far as you can say Tony leads the life of a typical Mafia boss, if there is such a thing, his ~~(boyfriend? Lover? Kept boy? Sugar baby?)~~ partner is anything but. Steve’s been infatuated with Peter Parker from the moment he first laid eyes on him.

He can still feel the way Peter’s tight little hole had felt around his cock when the boy rode him, he can still taste the boy’s skin and hear his soft little moans-

But that was a week ago. A week ago and he hasn’t been asked back to the boy’s bedroom so he assumes that- that it was a one off, or he didn’t do a good enough job- but that doesn’t mean he can just forget. Regret courses through him but that’s life. It’s just Tony’s boy, it’s just Stark’s lover. He can get over it. _Surely_.

He’s wrong.

It’s about two am, and they’re in Stark’s soundproof basement having a meeting with a local gang. Tony leans against his desk and Steve stands just beside him. Behind them are other, trusted members of the team. Natasha Romanov, she’s frightening and Steve respects her, and Clint, who makes too many jokes but is nice enough.

Opposite them is Stephen Strange, flanked by dark skinned men of muscle that Steve doesn’t recognise. He thinks he could take them in a fight. But it doesn’t look like there’s going to be one. Stephen, like Tony, is clearly a man of style. His black suit and perfectly gelled hair make that obvious. But still, there’s a tension in the room as the terms of Stephen’s treaty are discussed.

And then there’s a flood of light and a creak as the basement door opens and who else but Peter Parker comes padding down. He’s a vision. He always is. It’s late, but he seems to glitter in the light, clad in white chiffon teddy; his hair a little rumpled from sleep. He peers down at everyone and rests against the bannister halfway down the steps. “Daddy,” he sighs, and Tony smiles at him.

“Yeah, baby? Daddy’ll be right up.”

“But I can’t reach the maple syrup.” Peter pouts, “I want to put them on my crepes.”

What a gorgeous, spoilt little size queen. Stephen clears his throat and Steve watches as Peter turns to look at the other man and sighs.

“Hi, Mr Strange.” He chimes politely, _dutifully_.

Stephen grins wolfishly. “It’s good to see you, Peter. You’re looking well.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, looking like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Tony’s chest rumbles proudly. “Someone go help the boy reach the syrup.”

Steve doesn’t move. One, because he’s Tony’s right hand. Two, because he should not be alone with that boy, and three, because Natasha and Clint scramble for the chance before anyone can even blink. “I’ll do it!” Clint yells, only to be elbowed rather brutally in the stomach by Natasha who smirks winningly, brushing herself down.

“No worries everyone,” she breathes, heading for the stairs. “I’ve got this.”

Peter beams at her, and she kisses his cheek, leaving a red imprint, before they both disappear.

So yeah, maybe Steve does have this impression of Peter as a spoilt, pampered little princess. But nothing Peter does ever dismisses that image. And it’s not an image Steve’s against or anything, but it certainly stops his feelings from progressing any further than lust. He’s not going to fall in love with someone so self-absorbed, which is for the best, because he doesn’t want to be killed.

 

The next time it happens, it’s a little past 11pm, and they’re in Tony’s office going over the set up of a kidnapping for the next day. Peter pokes his head through the door and clears his throat, cutting Tony off and Steve tries not to stare too hard at those lovely hazel eyes. “Daddy, the Jeffree Star highlighters go live in an hour.” He murmurs sleepily, and Tony nods. “I want ice cold, peach goddess and princess cut. Okay?”

Tony nods, “I got it, baby.”

“Don’t get it wrong.” Peter warns, “I won’t be happy.”

Steve can’t even believe that he’s getting away with talking to Tony like that- the most powerful man to exist beneath the rules of law- like a prissy little airhead who’ll scream and cry if she doesn’t get her away. Steve’s a little repulsed but goddamn it, Peter is gorgeous. He can get away with it, he supposes, but still. Looks fade. “I won’t get it wrong, sweetheart.”

Peter hums, and disappears.

“You know anything about highlighters, Rogers?” Tony asks as midnight nears, and Steve shakes his head. Tony chuckles. “Didn’t think so. A real man’s man.”

The door opens and Natasha walks in, she doesn’t greet them, she only tugs at the cabinets on the walls, pulling out a complex series of monitors and more computers and screens than Steve knows what to do with. He watches as all of them are directed to a website with a pink banner- Jeffree Star cosmetics. Jesus, this is all for make up? The prices look ludicrous.

Then again, they are in a gigantic mansion and they came here in one of Tony’s many, many, many rare cars.

“Ice cold, Peach Goddess and Princess Cut.” Tony recites and Natasha waves him off.

“I know.”

Ice cold, peach goddess and princess cut. Yeah, Steve thinks, they all suit Peter to a tee.

When midnight hits, the page refreshes and it’s a flurry of activity and in a matter of seconds- everything’s sold out. Jesus. Steve’s getting a new respect for this industry and the demand for it. “We got it,” Nat beams, and she and Tony high five.

 

He doesn’t see Peter again for about a week.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about him. He thinks about those sweet moans and those whimpers and the way Steve had been able to pin down his tiny wrists in just one of his hands and how the boy had gasped wantonly as he was held down.

It’s early morning on a Monday, and Tony is sipping his espresso and manipulating some holographic hovering diagram and muttering in phrases too quick for Steve to understand. So, he’s been here for two weeks, he’s officially moved in. He hadn’t asked for it, but Tony has given him a room- it’s huge. Bigger than Steve needs, but it makes it easier to actually protect the man when Steve can be near him as often as possible.

He likes Tony. It’s difficult not to. The man is funny and biting, witty and dangerous, but soft as anything when it comes to Peter. He’s good to the people he trusts, and merciless to those who betray him. He does what has to be done, no matter how dirty, and he doesn’t just torture for sport. It always has a purpose. Deep down, Steve thinks he’s a good man, and Steve was raised to be loyal to good men.

Peter pads into the kitchen, tantalisingly on display with nothing but a short pink robe on. He smiles at both of them, and Steve smiles back before pulling his eyes away quickly as Peter opens the fridge and pours out some red grape juice. As he sips it, his eyes turn to Tony and they glitter with concern.

“Have you eaten, Tony?” He asks.

It’s the first time Steve’s heard him use Stark’s real name. Tony smiles distractedly, “busy, baby.”

“You can’t just have coffee and say that it’s breakfast.” Peter scolds, setting down his juice and crossing his arms and giving his best disapproving glare.

It’s like a kitten going up against a lion and Steve has to stifle his laughter behind a cough. “Sweetheart, I’m a busy man. I’ll have breakfast after I finish sorting this out.”

Peter is relentless, he pouts and his bottom lip trembles and for one heart-breaking second Steve thinks he’s going to cry when-

Tony sighs and reaches out to cup Peter’s cheek. “Okay baby, get Karen to fix me up a bacon sandwich. I’ll eat it on the way.”

“Remember what Dr Banner said?”

Tony almost pouts then and Steve thinks he might’ve slipped into an alternate universe. “Turkey bacon, then.”

Peter beams, spinning on his toes so the robe spins out behind him in a flourish, before leaning in to press a sweet kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Your cholesterol levels and I thank you!” He sings, before tugging Tony in for a hug. “And I’ll miss you, daddy. Promise to call?”

“I promise.” Tony murmurs in a whisper, clutching Peter tight, before the boy heads off, presumably in the direction of the chef.

Not selfish, then, Steve amends fondly. He clearly cares for Tony very deeply. It’s nice. It’s sweet. But it does make Steve frown. “You had bacon in your burger yesterday.” He points out and Tony gives him a dangerous look and Steve isn’t scared at all.

“You tell him that, and I’ll kill you.” He warns.

For the first time, Steve laughs in Tony’s presence.

“You’re staying with him this week, Rogers.” Tony says, getting back to business.

Steve shakes his head worriedly, suddenly realising why Peter had made Tony promise to call. He’s going to be gone for a while. “But Sir,” he protests, “I’m your bodyguard, surely I should-“

“It’s a show of trust meeting with one of my allies in Mexico, Rogers. I can handle this one. I want you here with Peter.”

“But Sir-“

“No arguments.” Tony says with an edge of steel and Steve backs down immediately. Tony softens a little. “Neither of us will have any guards, we’re meeting on neutral ground. I’m one of the smartest men in the world. Give me some credit.”

Steve looks at the ground. “Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll be back Sunday night.”

It’s Monday. One week. Okay, sure, Steve can do that, it’s just…what does it mean- being here with Peter? Is he Peter’s bodyguard now? What does it entail? “Sir,” he sighs, biting the bullet. “What is…I mean, what I mean to say is- what is is my….what is is my role? Around Peter? What’s my relationship with him suppose to be?”

A woman with dark hair comes into the kitchen and silently places a wrapped turkey bacon sandwich on the counter and disappears again. Tony picks it up and eyes it like he really wishes it were real bacon instead. “You keep him happy, Rogers.”

“Yes, but- but what does that mean exactly? _Exactly_?”

Tony looks beyond amused now, and his eyes sparkle with a youthful mischief. “I’m not insecure, Rogers.” He grins. ”I love the boy and the boy loves me. But I can’t always be around, can I? He’s taken a shine to you, you should embrace it, appreciate it. He’s sweet, you know that. Keep him happy and I’m sure you know that if you don’t…” he tilts his head, “It doesn’t matter how fond of you I’ve become, I won’t hesitate.”

Steve nods, swallowing hard.

He sees Tony off and watches as the car disappears past the gate and then he’s in the mansion. He’s never been here without Tony before. He starts to wander the enormous building, trying to get a better map of the place. It’s fantastically designed, each room a new theme but flowing together seamlessly. Priceless art hangs on the walls and as the sunlight streams in through the gigantic windows, it pours onto tasteful furniture and state of the art appliances.

Steve can’t believe he gets to live here. He’s very lucky.

He heads down a set of steps when the humidity changes, and he realises that this is an indoor pool- an additional one to the one outside, he wonders if he’d be allowed to swim a few laps in the mornings, or maybe in the dead of night.

 _Keep him happy_. Tony’s answered his question and left him even more lost than before.

“Steve?”

Steve turns and feels his heart leap into his throat. It’s Peter. It’s fucking Peter standing there, completely naked, flushed pink and warm all over with his hair looking darker and curled; matted to his forehead. There’s steam fading around him and- and- Steve can’t look away from that gorgeous little cock. He’s completely hairless from the neck down, looks so smooth and soft and-

“It’s a sauna, Steve,” Peter grins impishly, “they’re very good for you. You should try them some day.”

Steve manages to tear his eyes away from those delicate thighs and he reaches for the white towel hanging on the wall and he hands it to Peter with shaking hands.

The boy winks at him, before tying it low around his waist.

Steve wants to lick his neck.

“So, what are you doing here?”

“I-uh-“ he swallows hard, trying to give his suddenly dry throat some moisture. “Tony wanted me to stay with you for the week.”

“He did?” Peter asks, voice high and surprised. “Oh.” And then his pretty pink lips spread into a smile. “Well, we’ll have some fun! C’mon, I have to get changed.”

It’s clear Peter’s completely comfortable in his skin- as he should be because _jesus_ \- but still, Steve’s surprised when he’s taken to Peter’s bedroom and left standing there as the boy heads into the shower with a quick _make yourself comfortable i’ll only be a minute_

He’s only been in Peter’s bedroom once before and to be honest, he hadn’t been paying any attention. So, he takes the opportunity to look now. It’s huge. Much, much, much bigger than his own which is already oversized. There are two floor to ceiling arched windows with window seats, and a queen sized bed in the shape of a heart. There’s a bookcase full of antique looking hardbacks and a desk with a laptop and study material. There’s a gorgeous vanity with neat rows of makeup and a big jewellery box and the room oozes luxury.

There’s so much pink, all of the many, many cushions on Peter’s bed are different shades, the curtains are pink, the window seats are too, and the little bedside tables seem to have diamonds for handles and Steve is awe-struck.

He realises that he has no idea what’s going to happen today. He’s never seen Peter during the day, only ever snippets of him at night. He’s more than a little curious.

Soon Peter steps out of the bathroom, still naked and honestly, the things Steve wants to do. He wants to worship this boy. His hair is dry and a fluffy mess so there must be a dryer in there- from what Steve can see, the ensuite is huge, with a corner bathtub and a shower and a view out onto the gardens.

“What time is it, handsome?” Peter asks, folding his towel neatly over the rail.

Steve tries not to swoon. _He’s tidy_ , he notes. He keeps his things tidy, he doesn’t leave a mess for the maid. He looks at his watch. “Almost eight thirty.”

“We’re doing well,” he claps happily, before going over to the white double doors in one of the walls of his bedroom. He pulls them open and really, Steve shouldn’t be surprised at the sight of the huge walk-in wardrobe. He ends up following Peter inside not because he’s asked, but because he’s drawn in. More pink, more luxury, more excess. There are rows of pastel sweaters, and lines of shoes and- all different shades of pink. There’s a display drawer full of lingerie and panties and there are brand names everywhere _gucci, hermes, louis vuitton, chanel, prada, diro, burberry, tiffanys, versace_ it goes on, it’s endless. There’s rows of perfume and lots of jackets and coats and fuck it’s like another world. He skims his hands across the fabrics, cool and silky to warm and soft and this is insane-

He’s pulled out of his gawking for some more gawking as he watches Peter tug on a pair of pink panties, followed by some high waisted black sports leggings that do- quite frankly- obscene things to his perfect ass. Then he pulls on socks and out of his rows and rows of converse, he picks a pale pink pair with white laces. Everything still looks brand new. Peter then chooses a pastel sweater that matches his converse exactly, and pulls it on.

It’s too big for him, but that’s the point. It slips down one shoulder and hangs past his wrists and Steve _wants_. He wants so bad, he’s aching in his jeans.

“What do you think?” Peter asks, posing with a cheeky smile, before spritzing himself with some perfume.

Steve’s dazed. He wants him. He wants to- he lets out a shattered gasp as Peter slides up to him and cups Steve’s aching dick in his tiny palm.

“You like it,” Peter murmurs, pleased, tiptoeing to kiss the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Good! We can go. You know, I used to wear Tony’s sunglasses all the time but he’s banned me. Said I was breaking instagram. It’s not fair.” He heads back into his room and Steve follows like a dog with his tongue lolling out as Peter grabs his pink backpack, and his phone, before they leave.

It’s a nice warm day in New York, with a lovely gentle breeze and a beautiful blue sky but Steve can’t appreciate any of it, because his eyes are fixed on Peter’s ass.

He has to slap himself because come on. He’s being a bad bodyguard. He tries to focus a little more on their surroundings, and take a note of anything suspicious but everything seems fine. Peter chatters away quite happily and Steve finds himself relaxing a little. Peter is nice, he’s sweet, and he talks passionately about the show he’s been watching. Steve’s never heard of Adventure Time, but Peter makes it sound kinda interesting.

They stop at a milkshake vendor, which surprises Steve for some reason. He doesn’t know why, he just figured Peter might like some more upscale place-

“Strawberry vanilla and…” he looks up at Steve who blanches.

“Oh-uh- nothing, thank you.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Get him a chocolate.”

And that’s how he ends up sipping chocolate milkshake and trying not to look at the way Peter’s lips purse around the straw. “You didn’t have too,” he murmurs, “thank you.”

Peter shrugs. “Everyone deserves milkshake.” He says solemnly and Steve can’t hold in his laugh at the severity of the statement.

Peter giggles too.

They spend the rest of the morning camped out in the library. Steve idly flips through a book he picks up and Peter types away at an essay and twists the laptop around for Steve to see from time to time when he’s unsure about a sentence.

The kid is smart. Fucking really smart. Not an airhead, and actually- he doesn’t seem stuck up either. He’s thoughtful and perceptive and tilts his head to the right when he’s thinking about something really hard in a way that’s utterly endearing. The bare skin of his shoulder and his neck is captivating, but as it turns out, his arguments on Moby Dick are too.

“You’re majoring in English?” Steve asks after Peter declares he’s done, and he starts packing his stuff away. “You go to NYU?”

“Yeah, full scholarship,” he grins, a little bashful. “I know Tony would have paid, but- he already does so much for me, you know? And no, I haven’t actually picked my major yet. English maybe, but journalism? I’m also a little sweet on Chemistry and History.”

 _Careful_ , Steve thinks as they head for the door, _you’re dangerously close to falling in love with him._

There’s a guy around Peter’s age at the door who practically leers at Peter as they head towards him. “Parker,” the guy shouts, a lewd smile on his face, “you have a partner for Billing’s assignment yet?”

Peter barely looks at him. “I do.”

“Fuck off, who?”

Steve glares at the boy, but it has no effect. They head out into the sunshine but he trails after them. “It’s Harry,” Peter calls without turning around, “he asked first, sorry Flash.”

Flash curses under his breath but stops following them and Steve lets out an impressed whistle. “You know how to deal with assholes, kid.”

Peter nudges him and Steve’s heart does a flip.

When they get back home, Peter tells Steve to get a bunch of ingedients out of the cupboards in the kitcen because apparently it’s baking time. Steve doesn’t really understand because- isn’t Karen the chef? But he does as he’s told while Peter puts his bag away and after he’s set out the flour and the cookie cutters and the butter and the scales and the sugar and everything else, he looks up to see Peter.

He’s dressed the same except- except perched on his delicate nose is a pair of thick, blame framed glasses.

Steve can feel his lips part in awe. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” He croaks.

Peter shrugs and smiles wryly. “My contacts ache after staring at a computer all morning, you know?”

“They suit you.” He manages, clutching at the marble counter for support. “A lot.”

Peter flushes with pleasure. “That’s what Tony says.” He murmurs shyly, and there’s a long moment where they just look at each other, before Peter claps his hands and clears his throat. “Okay! Baking time!”

“Okay,” Steve nods, “sure. And these are…”

“Oatmeal and raisin cookies for MJ because even though she says she doesn’t like them, she really actually does.”

“Is it her birthday?”

“No, but she’s been a little down lately, I think.” Peter frowns, reaching for the sugar, “she hasn’t been drawing. I wanna make sure she’s okay and the best way to do that- cookies!”

 _Shit_ , Steve thinks, _you total fucking idiot. You’ve fallen in love._

 

After baking, Peter heads out into the garden- he’s been planting roses along the perimeter. “They’ll bloom in the summer,” Peter murmurs, digging his hands into the soil and grinning. There are smudges of dirt along his face. “Just in time for Tony’s birthday.” 

He’s not what he thought at all. The boy is perfect, a perfect angel. And he loves Tony and Tony loves him and Steve is…what does it mean? He doesn’t know. He muses it sadly as Peter showers. He thinks about the way Peter had scratched his back- the scratches are healed now but he wishes they weren’t. He wants the boy again, desperately, but he wants him for more than just sex.

After Peter comes out of the shower, Steve gets what seems like his thousandth surprise, and that’s Peter informing him that they better head off if he’s going to make ballet practise. Because of course. _Of course_.“I didn’t know you did ballet,” Steve murmurs, but really, there are so many things he didn’t know Peter did. 

Peter grins, lacing up the pink ribbons around his ankles. The leotard leaves nothing to the imagination and Steve could devour him whole. “Yeah, I love dancing. Since I was a kid. Tony even had a little dance studio put into the house- haven’t you seen it? It’s in the West Wing.” 

Jesus Christ. He shakes his head and Peter presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re welcome to stay and watch!” He grins, as if Steve had even planned on going anywhere else. It’s not a big group, seven or so boys and girls around Peter’s age and all fantastically talented as they follow their teacher. There are some other people sitting in the seats below the stage watching, and Steve assumes they’re friends or boyfriends, or parents- but he’s probably the only bodyguard. Peter is hypnotising. He moves with grace and elegance but with such precision. He’s so flexible, he- he really is the perfect boy. It’s driving him fucking insane. The spoilt little sugar baby thing- it’s just a facet of Peter’s personality, one made all the more alluring by the fact that it’s not all he is. Steve likes it. He lusts after the thought of Peter being spoilt and stuck up and haughty and in desperate need of a good deep fucking, but he also loves Peter the baker and Peter the gardener and Peter the college student and Peter the ballerina. 

He’s fallen hard and no good can come of it. His phone buzzes like it knows, and Tony Stark’s name comes up. **You guys at ballet?**  

Of course, Tony has Peter’s schedule down to a tee. **Yes, Sir.**  

**Beauty, isn’t he?**

Steve swallows thickly. **Yes, Sir**.  

When they get back, Steve’s has to excuse himself to cum all over his hands in the bathroom after a day of being teased to the extremes by this boy. When he gets back, Peter is lounging on the couch and scrolling through different delivery services. He tosses Steve the remote. “Pick something disney,” he grins, “any idea of what you want for dinner? All you had was that milkshake.”

Isn’t Steve meant to be taking care of him? “I’m easy.” 

Peter winks at him, “what a surprise. Me too.”

He orders Chinese and they eat spring rolls and watch Lion King II and Peter knows the words to every single song and after he’s finished eating, he lays his head in Steve’s lap and demands to be petted like a cat. Steve has no complaints. He strokes his fingers through that impossibly soft hair and tries not to think about the fact that Peter’s head is near his dick. 

After watching Pinocchio, Peter lets out a yawn and rolls onto his back, looking up at Steve with a sleepy smile. _Jesus_ he’s beautiful. “No sex today, Steve,” he sighs, reaching up to pat Steve’s cheek. “I have an early class.”

He can feel the blood rushing to his face. “N-no, I-I don’t- you don’t-“

Peter grins, leaning up to kiss him softly on the mouth. Steve can’t help the groan that escapes him and Peter leans in again, a hint of tongue that time, before he’s gone. “Wake me up at seven, handsome.” 

Steve sits on the couch for a long time, trying to remember how to breathe.  

 

He does go to wake Peter up at seven, with a cup of fruit tea that Karen says Peter likes. He pushes open the door and freezes. Peter’s completely naked, strewn like sin in silk pink sheets like a fucking Renaissance painting. He’s on his front, snuggled into his pillows peacefully, plump round ass in the air and oh god- if he had this, he’d never, ever leave it. “Peter,” he murmurs, setting down the tea. “It’s seven.” Peter is a deep sleeper, and it takes a lot more crooning, and then a gentle hand on the shoulder before he blinks blearily. 

“Whaa…”

It’s the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen. “It’s seven, baby,” he murmurs, biting his tongue as soon as it leaves his mouth. What a fucking slip up. Hopefully Peter won’t notice. “I made you some fruit tea, Karen said you liked it?” 

At the mention of tea Peter lifts his head a little more and Steve beams triumphantly as Peter reaches for it. “M’okay. Will you lay my clothes out for me, please?” 

Steve swallows hard and tries not to think about how hard that makes him. Being around this kid cannot be good for him. But of course, he does as he’s told as Peter heads into the shower. The wardrobe lights up as soon as he walks in and he worriedly checks the weather on his phone.

It’s gonna be a hot day. Okay. Okay. He takes a deep breath, shorts. Shorts are good for a hot day. He picks out a pair of denim shorts with a frilly hem and lays it over his arm, picking out some socks and some white converse, and then- his eyes stutter on a crop top, white with pink writing on it. _baby_ is written on the front. He takes it out and then grits his teeth as he gets to the collection of panties. Fuck. He wants to see Peter in all of it. But then he sees a light blue pair. Blue is his favourite colour and he wants to see it on Peter so he picks it up. It’s so fucking soft in his hands, he heads out and lays them all on the bed.

He’s not sure whether he should stay or not, but he does and when Peter comes out, he gets a kiss blown at him and he gets to stare at that lithe body. Peter tugs on the panties and yes- Steve was right. The blue makes his skin look like fresh cream, and the shorts- fuck, Peter could make anything look good he’s sure, but the shorts are fucking delicious. The top shows a hint of his flat, lightly toned stomach and- Steve is ruined for porn. 

“I have to run,” Peter apologises, grabbing his bag. “I’ll only be about an hour- I’m handing in an essay, okay?” He heads over to Steve, stretching onto his tiptoes to give him a long, dirty kiss on the mouth and Steve feels his head swim as he leans down and grabs hold of Peter’s waist. He tastes like sugar and sweetness. Just a bit longer, he just wants to- Peter moans into the kiss, melting into him, before he pulls away reluctantly. “Sorry, handsome. Deadlines. I’ll be back in an hour!” 

Steve’s not sure whether or not he should let Peter out of his sight, but Tony never said not to and to be honest- he can’t really move with the raging hard-on he has. 

Peter is back in under an hour, and he’s dripping with sweat and grinning because he’s done with classes for the semester. He heads out into the garden and Steve follows, watching as Peter tugs off his clothes, and jumps right into the pool with a _whoop_! 

That’s how Clint finds them a few hours later. Steve on a sunbed by the side of the pool, sipping lemonade as Peter floats on his back and tries to explain the importance of Donna in Doctor Who. 

“But I thought you said she forgot everything.”

“She did, but it still happened!” 

“Well, well, well,” Clint grins, strolling out into the sun and Steve sits up, watching as Clint’s eyes drag over Peter’s body. “What are you two doing out here? Enjoying the view?” He winks at Steve who sighs at him. 

“No more classes,” Peter says excitedly, the water lapping at his bare body. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d check on you.” Clint purrs, kneeling by the side of the pool. Peter swims over to him with a coy smile and Clint reaches out to stroke a thumb over his cheek. Steve tries to swallows his jealousy. “See how you’re doing.”

Peter smirks. “You have a girlfriend now, so don’t even think about it. I like Hannah.” 

“Hey,” Clint appeases, lifting his hands innocently, “I’m only looking, hon’ there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Steve back me up.” 

“You’re a dick.” Steve mutters, and Peter bursts out laughing. 

Clint just rolls his eyes at them, unoffended and happy. “Steve keepin’ ya happy, Pete? Want me to tell daddy on him?”

“He’s doing just fine,” Peter purrs and Clint waves them away, heading back inside. 

They stay out until the dizzying heat of the afternoon gives way to the blissful cool of evening and then Peter takes a long shower and Steve’s waiting on the edge of Peter’s bed like he’s been told to. 

When Peter comes out, he’s still a little damp, and he crawls onto the bed and manhandles Steve until he can curl into his arms. “Big and strong,” Peter murmurs around a yawn, nuzzling into Steve’s chest and he wraps his arms around the smaller boy, breathing in the scent of him. “Say nice things about me,” Peter orders, like a needy princess, and Steve chuckles and holds him tighter. 

“You’re beautiful, Peter,” he murmurs, darkness filling the room as nighttime comes. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His fingers drag up and down that slender back- he has to keep reminding himself not to go too low without permission, “so kind, so sweet, such a perfect little boy.” 

Peter lets out what sounds like a contented purr, “I like your voice,” he sighs and Steve smiles warmly; talking until the boy and he- fall asleep. 

He wakes up to lips around his dick and Peter’s cocky eyes gazing up at him.

 

By Sunday, Steve knows the boy will ruin him and he’s happy to let it happen. Steve carries him from room to room when Peter craves the closeness of contact but detests the fatigue of actual movement. He seems to like being cuddled up in Steve’s arms like a real-life princess, and Steve likes having him in his arms. He reads to Peter every night, extracts from all the classics he’s studying in class. Every morning, Peter drags him into the shower with him and Steve tries to set himself a daily challenge of lasting longer than hot minute with Peter looking like the epitome of sex. He never seems to have enough of it- in the shower, then on the patio, then on the kitchen counter- he likes to impale himself on Steve when they watch movies- he likes suckling on the head of Steve’s dick whenever he’s bored- and Steve is never ever going to deny him. Peter’s body is a feast and Steve could dine off it forever. 

He’s found an effective way to wake Peter up is a morning blowjob, the kid cries so sweetly, hands in Steve’s hair and just begging for more, or by toying with his hole until he wakes up- desperate and flushed with desire. But Tony is coming back tonight and- and will it be like last time? Will Peter have no use of him anymore? He’s sitting at Peter’s desk, perusing Peter’s annotations in a copy of Little Women, as Peter parades in and out of the walk-in in a different piece of lingerie. Steve cocks his head at the thong and shakes his head. “Not quite.”

Peter looks at himself in the mirror and nods. “I agree.” He finds exactly what he’s looking for next. Skimpy lace panties and red stockings attached to a matching garter belt. The scarlet sets off his skin perfectly and Steve nearly launches off the chair. “I think we’ve found a winner,” Peter beams, doing a twirl, and Steve groans. 

“Are you sure I can’t have a taste?”

The brunette giggles, sliding on a thin red silk robe and sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed with differnet products splayed all around him. Steve is then subjected to the torture of watching Peter prepare himself for Tony’s arrival. He rubs oils and expensive body lotions all over his skin, and the smell is heady and delicious. Strawberries and roses and hints of cinnamon, before he moves on to makeup. Steve chuckles when he sees the Jeffree Star highlighters and Peter reaches for his brushes, arching an eyebrow. “What?” He grins, sweeping silver across his cheeks. It looks so fucking beautiful on his skin. 

“Nothing,” he smiles, “I just remember when you came in and court-ordered Tony to buy that for you.” 

Peter looks down at the makeup and smiles, peering in the mirror as he does his other cheek. “I love being his snooty little princess.” A thought occurs to him as he dabs at his cheeks. “Oh my god, I bet you thought I was a real bitch.” 

“No! No, I just- _well_ -“

Peter giggles and Steve shakes his head fondly. “I now know that you’re a beautiful boy with a heart of gold and a penchant for being spoiled.” 

Peter shrugs with a ‘what can you do’ sigh. “If Tony loves spoiling me, I can hardly help it, can I, handsome? He just want to make his baby feel good.” He bats his eyelashes and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve got everyone under your thumb, haven’t you?”

“You better believe it.” He teases, moving on to jewellery. He chooses a necklace with a chain so fine Steve can hardly see it as it sparkles fine as a spider’s gossamer against his collarbones, with a small heart pendant, and a pair of earrings that sparkle like mini-sapphires. 

“You don’t have to put all this effort in,” Steve murmurs, capitvated by the sight of such a divine spectacle. “You look beautiful in your sweaters and your glasses- all covered with soil.”

“You’re sweet,” he murmurs, “and I know that. But it’s nice to dress up sometimes, don’t you think? It makes me feel pretty in a different way.” He pauses, and looks at Steve, “do you not like it like this?”

He takes in the glitter on his face and the scarlet straps of the garter, the diamonds and the way his skin shines with oils. “No, I like this way a lot,” he confesses, voice hoarse, “you just look…completely unattainable this way. So far out of my league, at least with the boy in pastel sweaters and glasses- I could buy him a strawberry vanilla milkshake from a vendor and he might be impressed. This Peter…I could sell my soul and it wouldn’t be enough. A drop in your ocean.” 

“Steve,” Peter blows him a kiss, “I’m the same Peter. I could go for milkshakes all the time. And you don’t have to buy me anything to impress me- you do that anyway.” 

They talk and listen to music for the next few hours, as Peter paints his nails and then teaches Steve how to do eyeliner before it starts getting really dark out. Peter frowns and pads to the window, curling up in the seat and staring down at the gate. “Did he say what time he’d be back?” 

Steve can hear the sadness in Peter’s voice and he shakes his head. “He just said Sunday night. Do you want me to call him?” 

“No, no, don’t do that,” Peter sighs, resting his head against the window and looking out. “He’s just running late. He called yesterday.” 

Steve knows. He could hear Peter’s giggles and the forlorn _I miss you daddy_ from the kitchen. “He’ll be back soon.”

Peter nods. 

 

Steve wakes up with a start, his neck aching from Peter’s desk chair and he looks around. It’s pitch black outside and Peter is asleep on the window seat. Steve checks his watch- it’s past midnight. He frowns, standing up and scooping Peter gently into his arms; his heard bleeding for the boy. Dolled up and dressed to the nines, smelling of perfume and strawberries all for Tony. He tucks him in and kisses his forehead, flipping the lights off and easing the door shut.

As soon as he’s outside, he feels a flash of anger towards Tony. It’s quickly drowned out by worry, and he gets his phone out and dials. Tony doesn’t answer. He messages Clint. **Do you where Tony is?**

Clint replies immediately. **En route now. Been a rough one, I think. Watch out**. 

Steve doesn’t know what that means but he feels relief flood him at the fact Tony’s okay. He paces downstairs, waiting, until about half an hour later, the front door opens, and Tony comes in. He looks…tired. Exhausted. Drained. His skin is tanned but he doesn’t look hurt anywhere. “Mr Stark,” Steve comes forward worriedly, “are you okay? Would you like some water?”

“I’m fine,” Tony snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m exhausted. I want my bed and- get Karen to make a cheeseburger for breakfast.” 

Steve bites his tongue, but his tongue bites back. “Are you sure Peter would approve of that?”

Tony stops, and turns around slowly and Steve feels a dread and fear he hasn’t known for a while around this man. His instincts tell him to run but he doesn’t move. “Don’t talk back to me, Rogers.” Tony growls, “I’ve had a long, shitty week. I’ve had to do things I didn’t want to do, okay? But my hand was forced. Do you think after doing that I want to come home to your judgement? No. I don’t. I want my bed and a cheeseburger. Unless you have a problem with that?”

 _Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut_ , his brain hisses. It’s obvious Tony’s drained- Steve can see that, but- “Peter fell asleep waiting for you.”

Tony looks like he’s considering punching Steve as hard as he can. But he takes a deep, controlling breath. “I’ll see Peter in the morning. Goodnight, Rogers.” 

He turns and heads for the stairs but Steve can’t do it. “Sir!” He calls beseechingly, “if you had any kind of sense you’d go to him now. He’s missed you this week- more than he’ll ever truly admit to. I know you’re tired and you’ve been through hell but there’s a piece of heaven up there waiting for you. Don’t, just don’t leave it till the morning. Please.”

He can’t see Tony’s face, but he can see the rise and fall of his shoulders. He holds the bannister and exhales slowly. “Alright.” 

Steve’s not ashamed to admit he follows him, a little brave off the fact he hasn’t been shot in the head for insubordination, and true enough, Tony slips into Peter’s room. Steve hovers by the door and strains to listen. There’s ruffling sheets, and then Peter’s sleepy voice. 

“Daddy?” He whispers, “what time is it- did I- Did I fall asleep?”

“No, baby,” Tony whispers, “I was really late, I’m sorry. God, look at you- you’re a vision.”

“All for you,” Peter murmurs, and then there are some soft sighs and gentle moans. 

“You smell so good, baby, you’re so soft.” Tony growls and Steve can feel jealousy rise inside him before Tony continues: “Did Steve take good care of you?”

His heart stops beating for a second, and he hears Peter’s bashful reply. “I really, really like this one, daddy. Are we going to keep him?”

Silence, and then: “I think we are, princess. He’s good for us both.”

Steve doesn’t know how this is all going to work, but he thinks it just might. 

 

He misses Peter but it’s nice getting back into the routine of being Tony’s bodyguard. It’s what he was hired to do, after all, and he’s fiercely protective over both of them. Whatever went down in Mexico has made Tony a little less merciful and Strange’s group suffers for it, but ultimately, nothing too detrimental happens. Steve catches a few men, Clint kills them, Nat buries them. It’s efficient and normal and a familiar routine. Tony works an unusually normal week day if nothing unexpected happens, 10-6 Monday to Saturday, but that suits Peter just fine- he goes out with his friends and is always happy to see them in the evenings. 

Most times he’ll go straight for Tony, desperate and aching, but other times, he’ll bite his lip and look at Steve and really- what’s a man to do? More and more often lately, he has both of them separately, but on the same night. Steve doesn’t mind that either. Because fucking into Peter’s stretched, sloppy hole is just as fantastic as fucking into his tight, rose pink one. Tony’s been preoccupied with something lately, and at first Steve had thought it was plans for another off-shore meeting, but thankfully it isn’t, and it’s actually plans for Peter’s birthday which is coming up next week. It’s funny, seeing the older man stressed about something that isn’t his job.

“He must have mentioned something.” Tony grumbles to Steve as the two of them pack the guns away. “He’s always talking about something he wants and now that it’s his birthday- radio silence.” 

“Maybe you’ve got him everything he could possibly need,” Steve teases, feeling pretty confident because he’s already got Peter his present. As soon as he found out it was the boy’s birthday, he’d purchased it and wrapped it as best as he could. He hopes the boy likes it. 

“C’mon, spill the beans, Cap. What’ve you got him?”

“Hey- no! Tony, you can think of one yourself.”

“I will shoot you in the head.”

Steve gives him a look. “I don’t think Peter would like that very much.” 

Tony groans, tossing the gun into the box and sighing. “Do you think he wants a jet?” 

“Do I- no, Tony, I don’t think he wants a private jet. He’s gonna be twenty.” He nudges his boss, “you buy him presents all the time and he always loves them. You’re great at getting him stuff, why are you so worried about it now?”

“It’s his birthday.” Tony sighs, “it’s different. You should have seen what he did for my birthday- I used to have this girlfriend, a big mistake in a lot of ways and a fucking disaster in others, and when we split she took this necklace I’d given her- it had belonged to my mother. Peter just…” he shakes his head fondly, “he got it back. Tracked down this woman to Texas and broke into her goddamn house and stole it back.”

Steve laughs in amazement, but claps Tony on the back. “Sir, he loves you. He’ll love anything. I think what he wants best is just- you.”

Happy drives them to Peter’s ballet studio instead of straight home because Peter asked if he could be picked up. He’s already waiting on the sidewalk, another of Steve’s favourite pastel sweaters on over his leotard- lavender this time. He’s still in his ballet shoes and there’s something delightfully feminine about it. He clambers into the car, setting his bag down on the seat. “Hey guys,” he grins, leaning over to kiss them both softly on the lips. He’s a little sweaty from practise and sinks into the plush leather seats like it’s a relief. But something’s off when he doesn’t immediately start a highly enthused account of his day. 

Tony picks up on it faster. “You okay, princess?” 

Peter looks up, nodding immediately. “Yeah, no, I’m fine.” 

Steve half smiles. “Wanna try again?” 

He sighs, dragging his hands through his fluffy hair. “It’s fine. I just- I worked really hard to be Odette and I thought I had it and-“ out of nowhere his eyes are sparkling and Steve leans forward worriedly. “-I’m sorry, it’s so stupid.” He rubs harshly at his eyes with the pads of his hands. “Maria’s amazing, she definitely deserves it. And Odile is a super good role, you know, Mr Berton he-, they’re normally danced by the same dancer but he created two roles because he thought I was good enough, I just-“ he hiccups a little, face all flushed red and Steve hauls him into his lap and into his arms because he cannot bear it when Peter cries. The boy immediately curls into his broad chest, and he’s so light and small like a fairy. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve confesses, looking over to Tony who’s practically vibrating with anger. “What’s he talking about?” 

“The ballet.” Tony manages, his voice cold with fury. “The Swan Lake, Odette is the lead character.”

Oh. Steve shakes his head in confusion. “But I watched Peter practise with them- he’s the best dancer they have by far.” 

Tony nods his head in agreement but Peter just hiccups a little giggle and presses a sweet kiss to Steve’s throat. “‘m not,” he mumbles, “but thank you. Maria has seniority and- I’m really not upset, I’m not, I just- it all came out in a big rush.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.” Tony snaps, “You’re better than her and I can have her leg broken before the day it out-“

Steve blinks in surprise. He knows Tony is protective but this is- this is a different type of anger. A reckless type of anger. “Daddy,” Peter warns, voice firm though his eyes are still a bit watery. “No. I like Maria. It’s okay, really.”

“Who’s Odile?” Steve asks, trying to calm the tension a little bit. 

“She’s the villain’s daughter,” Peter says, as Steve wipes his cheeks. “She disguises herself as Odette to trick the prince.” 

“Well, hey,” Steve murmurs, kissing Peter’s temple, “that sounds kinda cool. You seem the type to be typecast as the princess or the hero, I think you might do the villain thing kinda well.”

Peter looks up at him, as if the thought had never occured to him. “Yeah,” he agrees slowly, “being the villain might be kinda fun. I get to wear black feathers.”

“That sounds amazing. Doesn’t it, Tony?”

Tony is looking over at Steve and Peter with something indecipherable on his face, something warm and loving. “It does sound good.”

“She’s only in one Act though,” Peter points out, sitting up a little as he thinks about it. 

“Then you’ll steal the show in that act. We’ll only show up for that Act.” Tony insists and Peter giggles. Something about it is as domestic and loving as it was all those weeks ago watching Peter insist Tony have breakfast except this time- he’s a part of it. 

 

The day of Peter’s birthday comes around and Steve wakes up to see the house already a flurry of activity. There are pink balloons everywhere and streamers and banners and the dining room is a sight to behold. The table is laden with food, all of Peter’s favourites and there’s a gigantic second table completely covered and straining under the weight of all the presents on it and Steve shakes his head in disbelief.“Tony, I see you went for understated.” He teases, and Tony looks at him over his shoulder and snorts. 

“Do you see a yacht in here, Rogers? This is understated.” 

“Where’s the birthday boy?”

“Still asleep. Rehearsals ran late last night.” He claps his hands, ushering some of the staff out of the room so he can take a better look at it. “I’ve cancelled all the meetings for today. It’s just us and our boy.”

 _Our_ boy. Fuck. Steve could cry.

Peter comes downstairs at about 11 am, in a pair of stockings and a crop top, hair a fluffy mess with traces of peach glitter on his cheeks and the first thing he does is run into Tony’s arms and get spun around in the air. “Happy birthday, baby,” Tony murmurs, kissing him hard and Peter grins, pecking his nose, before rushing over to Steve and squealing as he’s hoisted into the air. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Steve smiles, and then the three of them sit down. 

Peter is a slack jawed mess over the vast number of Tony’s presents, shaking his head every time one is given to him. There are diamonds and watches and bracelets and necklaces and earrings from obscenely expensive designers, there are clothes and sweaters and shoes, and tickets to comic-con for him and Ned. There’s a new laptop and a first addiction Huckleberry Finn and perfumes and lingerie and Peter bursts into tears over the sheer quality of it all. There’s makeup and nail polish and a new glasses case and he just shakes his head. “You’re spoiling me,” he insists, blubbering a little, and Tony smiles softly at him. 

“That’s the point, baby.”

It takes about two hours to open all of Tony’s presents, so Steve’s understandably nervous by the time he hands over his one, slim parcel. Peter takes it with the same reverence he took all the others and opens it carefully, breath hitching at the sight of the _Velveteen Rabbit_. He traces his fingers down the front lovingly. “Oh, Steve.”

“I know it’s not much,” he hastens to add, “but I thought- you said it was your faovurite, and it could be something I read to you before bed and-“

“I love it.” Peter assures him, eyes heartfelt and then Tony’s had enough because he’s hoisting Peter onto his lap, dragging his back into his chest and splaying Peter’s thighs wide over his own as he unzips himself. 

“Sorry baby, I couldn’t wait. Not with you sitting there looking like that.” He pushes Peter’s pink panties to the side and groans. “You’re already prepped.”

Peter grins, grinding back greedily, “I know my daddy,” he teases, and then Tony is pulling him onto his cock. Peter gasps, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto and before Steve really knows what he’s doing, he’s kneeling before them and taking Peter’s perfect little cock into his mouth.

Peter screams, his hands tangling in Steve’s hair as Tony grinds into him. By the time he’s cum- well, by the _third_ time he’s cum, with Steve fucking into him as Tony fucks his mouth- he’s a flushed rosy mess. Tony cleans him up lovingly with a wet cloth and Peter looks between them with hazy giddyness. “That was my favourite present. Does that make me a slut? I love being a slut.” He giggles once he’s all clean, and changes into one of the new panties and shorts Tony got him. 

That’s when Tony brings out Jarvis. Probably one of the biggest, most ferocious akitas Steve has ever seen. The dog is enermous, with huge sharp teeth and claws and a thick dark brown coat and black eyes. Peter runs to it with a squeal and Steve reaches out to grab him because fuck no-

But the dog stops growling and woofs happily as Peter kneels before it. “Oh my god,” Peter cries, pulling the dog in for a hug as he pets him, “what’s his name? He’s beautiful!”

Steve stares in awe because _what the actual fuck_? That dog looks like it should be one of Satan’s hell hounds.

Tony gives Steve a consoling look. “Don’t worry. The bastard scares the shit out of me too. His name is Jarvis, baby. He’s your guard dog.”Jarvis bares his teeth menacingly at the two men as soon as Peter’s back is turned, but when the boy turns around, he wags his tail and licks his cheek. 

“I love him, oh my god, I love you so much, Jarvis, hi, I’m Peter!”

Steve would like to keep his fingers thank you very much.

Natasha and Clint come over with Peter’s favourite: red velvet cake, and Peter blows out the candles and takes their gifts with a blush and a thank you. Natasha asks if he’s wearing any lingerie under there and Peter tells her if she came by more often maybe she’d get to find out and Clint hightails it out of the house as soon as he sees Jarvis. 

“Do Peter and Nat…” he trails off under his breath, looking at Tony meaningfully. The older man shrugs, cutting a huge slice of the cake for Peter. 

“I don’t think so. She likes watching him, but who doesn’t?” 

“Right. That doesn’t…bother you?” 

Tony laughs, and pats Steve’s cheek. “I like watching him with other people, Cap. If I didn’t, do you really think you’d have made it this far? You’re part of the family now. But I didn’t realise you were so possessive.”

“I’m not,” Steve lies, before sighing. “With you. He can be ours, but Nat and Clint-“

“Peter doesn’t give a damn about Nat and Clint,” Tony reassures, “maybe he hasn’t told you yet, but he loves you, so quit freaking out and have some cake.”

Steve shuts up and does what he’s told. 

The rest of the day passes by in a happy sort of haze. Peter eats cake with his fingers and lies on the shag rug with Jarvis watching cartoons, and people come and go to say hello and drop off presents and wish him a happy birthday. 

Steve and Peter do it in the laundry room and Tony and Peter do it in the upstairs hallway. 

When the evening rolls around, Tony says they’re all going to the city’s best sushi place and Steve is startled to see a perfectly tailored blue suit in his wardrobe when he looks for something appropriate to wear. He pulls it out and shakes his head. Fucking Tony. They’re all softies at heart. 

Peter looks like a real doll, the barest hint of glitter on his face, a black mesh top and incredibly fitted black pants. He’s got a pale pink blazer on, tight with sparkling diamonds along the collar and lapel and Steve has a hard time keeping his hands to himself on the ride over.

So does Tony, though, so it’s okay. 

MJ and Ned are at the restaurant and Steve’s happy he gets to finally meet them. They seem nice and good for Peter, if the way he seems to light up and laugh with them is any indication. 

Steve’s never had expensive sushi before but it’s another taste experience. He feels like part of this insane party and he doesn’t know how to use chopsticks but Ned reaches over to help him as MJ and Tony snicker judgementally in the corner. 

It’s past midnight when they get home but Peter is cradled in Steve’s arms and he cranes his head to see Tony. “Daddy, I want you.”

Tony loosens his tie, taking Peter out of Steve’s arms and heading for the stairs. “I always want you, kitten.”

“And Steve too.” Peter adds in a whisper.

Steve swallows and looks over at Tony. Tony with Peter in his arms, they look fucking good together, the pink softness of Peter and the dark ruggedness of Tony and Steve thinks maybe- his dash of blue neatness might be nice. The three of them- he doesn’t know how it’ll work, but with Peter between them surely, maybe-

“And Steve too.” Tony agrees, and that’s that. 

It’s pretty fucking fantastic. 

 

Life rides on this high for a long while. Steve is happy, Tony is happy, Peter is happy, Happy is…presumably relatively content. They have their own bedrooms but more often than not they find themselves in Peter’s. They gravitate there subconsciously. Jarvis never warms to Tony or Steve and takes to protecting Peter like he’s its pup, which is just- typical, really. Peter always rolls his eyes whenever they say that Jarvis tried to maul them, and calls them big drama queens. 

Peter’s ballet recital comes and goes and is a raging success. He is a vision of corrupting darkness and maybe Steve’s biased, but he certainly feels Peter steals the show. He’d never seen Swan Lake before but Odile will now forever be his favourite character. Steve had brought a bouquet of roses and Tony had booed at Maria even though he still denies it. 

Everything is good. 

Until Friday. 

It’s a cold Friday, the coming of winter, and Steve is where he was a few months ago: sitting at Peter’s desk as the boy sweeps highlighter onto his cheeks. Except this time, it isn’t to impress anyone or wait for Tony, it’s just for him, as some downtime. Peter’s favourite playlist is playing and Steve is binging Adventure Time on Netflix and everything is good. Tony’s away at another meeting with the Meixcan Ally. Steve had been against it but Tony could rarely be dissauded from something once he’s decided on it. He’s stubborn. But Steve admires it. 

He looks up from his show to watch Peter tilt his head in his little hand mirror, as he he dabs the substance near his hairline. “You’re beautiful,” Steve murmurs, because he thinks it, and Peter winks, spreading his legs to reveal Steve’s favourite ice-blue panties. 

“And now?”

“Now you’re fucking irresisitble.”

Peter giggles, and Steve would come right over if Jarvis wasn’t lounging on the bed beside the boy. He swears the dog knows what he’s thinking. The doorbell rings and Steve pauses his show, getting to his feet. “That’ll be the pizza. Stay gorgeous.”

“Stay handsome!”

Steve chuckles to himself as he jogs downstairs and pulls open the front door.

The empty porch greets him. 

There’s no one there.

He frowns, he could have sworn he heard-Peter screams.

Steve can feel time slow down all around him. The world seems to stop and he tastes bile in the back of his throat as he realises. He wants to slap himself over how lax he’s become- his gun isn’t in his fucking belt, it’s in his room- he’s running, fear coursing through his veins back up the stairs- _fuck_ how big this house is- it feels like an age before he bursts into Peter’s bedroom and freezes.

There’s a large man in a balaclava, his arm around Peter’s neck and a gun pressed into his head. Peter looks tiny next to this guy, tiny and petrified and there’s blood trickling from his nose as he clutches at the hand at his throat. 

“Step closer and he dies.” The man hisses, and Steve lifts his hands

“Come on.” He manages, trying to keep his voice level. The last thing Peter needs now is to wintess how hysterical Steve feels. He was trained for this, he can do this. “Don’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to do this, let’s just talk.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.” The man says and Steve feels his heart unclench just a bit. “I will take him and I will go.”

“No, no you’re not taking him anywhere-“

Peter tosses his head back vicously and it collides with the man’s nose with a sickening crack as blood starts gushing forward. He cries out, backhanding Peter brutually so hard that the boy falls to the floor-That’s when Jarvis comes out. Smart fucking dog has finally managed to pull down the handle of the bathroom he was chucked in, and he comes out in full ferocity, teeth sinking down into the man’s arm. 

He howls in pain, and it’s all Steve needs to run forward and bash his head into the wall. It’s quick move binding him- he’s out cold, and Steve’s panting with adrenaline when he turns to see Peter on the floor, Jarvis whimpering softly beside him. “Peter,” Steve croaks, stumbling over to him. “Peter, baby, are you okay?”

His eyes are unfocused and he doesn’t answer.

“Shit, okay, Peter, you’re okay, okay, baby?” He cradles his head and lifts him up gently. Peter seems to gain some awarness at that, and he clings to Steve like a limpet, tears in his eyes as he holds on. 

“Got him?” He hiccups, and Steve nods.

“Yeah, yeah, we got him, baby,” he manages. He’s trying not to hyperventilte as he lays Peter down on the bed, fumbling for his phone. Peter’s head falls back and his eyes shut. Steve touches his hair frantically. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” He’s not sure who he’s saying it for, and hot tears are streaming down his face making it difficult to see. Jarvis is pacing agitatedly, consistently jumping up onto the bed to sniff at Peter and howl when he doesn’t get up and respond. 

Steve’s dialling when Peter’s hand feebly touches his wrist. “Bru…” he manages, before his eyes roll back. 

Right, fuck, right. Not the police- never the fucking police or ambulance. He scrolls manically for Bruce in his contacts. He’s never had to call the man before, but he answers on the first ring. 

“ _Hello_?”

“Bruce?” Steve practically screams, “it’s-it’s Steve Rogers, Peter is- Peter’s-“ he starts choking, sobbing and Bruce is suddenly more alert sounding on the phone. 

_“Steve, it’s okay, I’m here. Can you put Peter on the phone?”_

“No, no he can’t- he isn’t-“

 _“I’m on my way, alright?_ ” Bruce says calmly, “ _do not call the police or the hospital, okay? I am on my way. Call Natasha Romanov or Clint Barton, do you have either of their numbers?_ ” 

“Yeah, I- yeah.”

_“I’m going to hang up, I’ll be there soon. Call Clint or Natasha okay, and do not leave Peter.”_

Steve nods, wiping his face with his sleeve as he looks at his contacts. 

He’d rather have Natasha, but Clint’s name is the first one he sees. He presses on it and as he waits, his free hand on Peter’s chest, he wonders- who the hell is gonna call Tony?

Clint answers on the first ring too. _“What’s up, Cap?_ ”

“Come here, now.” Steve murmurs, a semblance of control coming back to him. “Some guy came in and hurt Pete, Doctor Banner is on his way-“

“ _Fuck me_.” Clint hisses, a flurry of movment on the other side of the line. “ _Is he okay? Let me talk to him_.”

Steve looks down and lets out a brief sob. “He’s out cold, Clint.”

“ _Fuck. Fuck. Okay, I’m on my way- I’ll call Natasha and-and- fuck, does Tony know?_ ”

“No, no I haven’t-“

“ _Natasha will do that too. Fuck._ ”

It’s suffice to say that that conversation doesn’t calm him. But Peter’s still breathing and his heartbeat is strong under Steve’s hands. He’s itching to go and get his gun from his room but he doesn’t want to move. He’s not sure how long he sits there but it isn’t long until someone bursts into the room. It’s a short, unassuming man with dark curly hair. He pushes past Steve to Peter and is opening a large, expensive looking bag of medical supplies. “Peter,” he says in a loud, clear voice, “It’s Doctor Banner. You doing alright?” He lifts one of Peter’s eyes and shines his torch into it. There’s no response. “What happened?” Bruce asks, and there’s an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there on the phone. That guy wanted to calm Steve down, this guy wants to heal. 

“The guy- I don’t know, when I came in his nose was bleeding, and then the guy h-hit him and he fell and I think he hit his head-“

“Out cold straight away?”

“No, no, he told me to call you.”

Bruce almost smiles. “What a good, clever boy, Peter,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he strokes his fingers through Peter’s hair. He must come into contact with something because he nods. 

Steve leaves him to it, running to get his gun and nearly groaning in relief at the sight of Clint. He almost collapses into the man’s arms and Clint holds him tight. 

“Bruce here?”

Steve nods. Everything aches and he didn’t even get touched. 

“Okay, okay, if Bruce is here everything’s going to be fine, alright? Okay? Look at me, Cap, it’s fine. Where’s the guy who broke in?”

The two of them haul the unconscious guy into the basement and lock him in, just in time to see Natasha run in through the front door. There’s blood down one side of her face. “Came from a job.” She explains, voice hard, “is Bruce here?” Clint nods, and she sighs, shoulders dropping a little. “If Bruce is here, he’ll be okay.” 

Steve wonders if Bruce is some kind of angel. He feels faint. 

“I think Steve’s going into shock, Nat.” He hears Clint say, but everything sounds muffled and then everything goes black. 

When he wakes up, he’s in a room in the mansion he’s never even seen before. It looks like a mini-hospital room and he groans, squinting at the bright light. There are two beds, and he’s in one of them and in the other is- Peter, awake and with a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheek. Natasha is rubbing something on to it, and she half smiles at Steve. “Your hero’s awoken,” she murmurs, and Peter twists to look at Steve and he smiles. 

“Are you okay?”

“Am I- are you okay, Peter? Where’s-“

Doctor Banner walks in just then and seems surprised at seeing them both awake. He nods and heads over to Peter first. Natasha ducks out of the way but hovers close by. “How are you feeling, Peter?” 

“Achey,” Peter admits, rotating his jaw a little. But he looks up at Bruce with a little grin. “Will I still be able to play the piano, Doc?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Bruce sighs, dropping a kiss onto Peter’s forehead before turning to Steve. “Sorry about pushing you to second, but he was more injured and no offence but even if he wasn’t, Peter is my top priority. Fail to save him and Tony will literally skin me alive.” 

“And also you love me.” Peter points out, already back under Natasha’s soothing fingers. 

“Yes, and also that.” Bruce sighs, shooting Steve a long-suffering look as he flashes a flashlight in his eyes. Steve wonders who Bruce Banner is. Wonders how he got involved with Tony Stark. He’s glad he has though, because Bruce is calming and he seems nice and he loves Peter. He’s like a lighthouse in the storm. “You’re looking better. Bit of a shock to the system, huh?”

“I’ll say,” Steve frowns, but he does feel better. Just seeing Peter up and joking around and being cared for- he feels better. “Is- where’s Tony?”

Peter looks up quickly. “Is he back? Where is he?”

“Hey, precious,” Nat soothes, screwing the cap back on the lid. “Shhh, don’t get worked up.” 

“Is he back?” Peter insists, and she sighs. 

“Yeah, he’s in the basement with Clint, they’re…talking to the guy.” 

“I wanna see him.” Peter demands, but nobody moves. He makes to get out of bed, but Natasha pins him down gently. 

“Baby, listen, you don’t want to see him right now, okay? He’s gonna be…a little messy, and-“

“I don’t care.” Peter snaps, “either he comes up here or I’ll go down there.”

“I’ll get him for you, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, getting up. Peter smiles at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand as he heads for the door. 

Natasha mouthes at him: _don’t bring Tony up here. Peter will be asleep in a few minutes. Bruce has given him something_

It’s a really good thing he knows how to lipread, but he nods subtly, and heads downstairs. 

The basement door is unlocked and as soon as he opens it he can hear the screams. He hurries inside and shuts it behind him, taking a breath before heading down the steps. Tony looks like a monster. He’s soaked in blood, and Clint is not much better. They look up as he enters and the man falls back onto the floor, weeping. “Peter’s awake?” Tony asks eagerly, and Steve nods, still taking in the scene. “How is he?”

“Gonna be okay. He was teasing Bruce.”

Clint beams. “Resilient beauty.”

Tony nods. There’s a bloodied hammer on the desk.

Steve swallows thickly. “What was he doing here?” 

“Turns out Luis is not a Mexican ally.” Tony mutters, “he spent the week I was out there with him having his crew survey the place. I have Happy on tracking down the others. This has been a plan in the works for a long time. They wanted Peter as leverage.” 

“Please,” the man begs, “it was not me. I was just following orders.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Clint snarls. 

“Have you learnt everything you can from him?” Steve asks, his voice low and calm. Tony looks at him for a moment, before nodding. “Can I have the honours?”

Another nod. 

The gun feels heavy in his hand. This isn’t the first life he’s taken, and it won’t be the last. However, when that shot goes off, it certainly is the best. 

Tony and Clint clean up as Bruce, Natasha and Steve fix up Peter’s room. The damage is pretty minimal, and nothing is broken, but Steve looks around: unsure. “Is he gonna wanna sleep in here after what’s happened?” 

“He’ll be more determined to.” Natasha says wisely, looking around it. She admires the books on the shelf. “Besides, it’s not like he got in through here. He broke the window in the pantry.” She smirks, “if he’s scared staying here, he’s more than welcome at mine.” 

“We’ll pass on that one,” Tony murmurs from the doorway, and Steve turns, relieved to see his… ~~brother? semi-partner? boss?~~ Tony at the door. He looks much better, scrubbed clean of blood and in a fresh set of clothes. Clint’s looking better too, and Steve’s very glad they’re all here. “You did good, Banner.”

“Ah, thank you, Tony,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Peter’s my godson, so I keep saying, you don’t need to blackmail me.” 

“Your godson?” Steve blinks in surprise, but everyone ignores him. 

“Yeah well, you know me. Blackmail’s my style. Now come on, I wanna see my boy.” 

“Me too,” Clint chimes, and they all head to Peter. 

 

Later that night, Peter does want to sleep in his bed. He snuggles in between Tony and Steve and whimpers a little when his face touches the pillow but refuses not to face the door. Seeing him hurt makes Tony look like he wants to resurrect the dead man in the basement just to kill him again. Steve’s just happy to breathe Peter in, and hold him close. 

Tony’s phone buzzes and it illuminates his face in the darkness. “Who is it?” Steve whispers as Peter slumbers between them. 

“It’s Strange,” Tony frowns, “he’s offering us his men to look for Luis’s other members.”

Steve kisses Peter’s temple. “Something about him.” He murmurs. 

At that, Tony smiles. “There definitely is.”

 

A few weeks later, there’s an unusually hot day in the middle of December, and Peter and Steve sit out on the veranda. Peter’s bruise is a light purple, but is fading more every day, and Steve feeds him pieces of warm, chocolate soaked waffle from his fingers. Peter sucks on the digits lazily, basking in the warmth. Steve chuckles. 

“You have an endless sugar craving,” he teases. 

“Well, when you’re as sweet as me, you need to be sustained.” Peter giggles. 

Jarvis is panting happily on the deck. He’s warm and friendly to Steve now, much to Tony’s aggravation. But apparently, according to Jarvis, seeing Steve knock out the intruder is enough for him. Tony still gets growls and basilisk eyes, which is _ridiculous because I bought the damn thing_. 

Tony walks out onto the deck, clapping his hands and enjoying the sunshine for a moment. “Alright, listen up, children. Family announcement.”

Steve and Peter look at each other warily. 

“Steve, you are now officially Peter’s bodyguard.” 

Steve doesn’t react. He’s not sure how he feels about it. He’s not at all insulted by it because he knows they’re all family, but they all play their roles. Tony still heads a mafia, Peter still puts on the prissy princess persona and Steve still stands to the side quietly, a gun in hand, waiting to protect. In a way, it’s great because while Jarvis technically saved Peter, a dog can’t do it all. But what about Tony? 

“No.” Peter shakes his head. “What about you, daddy?”

“Baby, Steve can protect you, he’s the best-“

“What about you?” Peter insists angrily, “Steve’s trained to fight, you aren’t!”

“Neither are you. I can just hire another bodyguard-“

“Steve’s the best!”

Steve clears his throat, and they both look at him expectantly. “I uh…I have a friend- a really good guy, he might be hard to track down, but he’d be…an amazing bodyguard. To either one of you.” 

“What’s his name?” Tony asks curiously. 

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”


	3. Bucky learns to be soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can't be in love. 
> 
> He's pretty sure he's not capable of feeling it.

“Well,” Tony murmurs, eyes alight with clever amusement, “you certainly look like a deathly assassin. I like the metal arm. Nice touch. Musta got that put in special.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak.  

Steve wants to roll his eyes. Ultimately, it hadn’t been too hard to track down Bucky. Or at least, not as hard as he’d thought it would be.  But then again- Bucky had always come back whenever Steve called. He’s a good and loyal friend and though he’s littered here and there with scars that Steve’s never seen before, he looks the same. Tall, gleaned with muscle, his hair’s grown out a little, it cuts harshly around his jaw  and his eyes glitter with lethal intelligence.

Steve reaches out to touch Bucky’s arm. “Buck?” He coaxes. 

Bucky nods slowly, mouth in a serious line. “I am an assassin, Sir.” He states simply. 

Tony pops a grape into his mouth and hums as he chews, glancing back down at the paper in his hand. He’s sat at his desk in his study, with Steve and Bucky sitting opposite him. Bucky looks…uncomfortable in the face of such wealth. Steve’s not surprised. Bucky’s used to simpler things. “Quite the rap sheet here.” Tony drawls. 

Again, Bucky doesn’t speak.

Steve sighs. “Buck, it’s okay, really.”

“He’s not asking any questions.” Bucky mutters defensively under his breath and Tony looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Alright, alright. So, Steve tell ya what it entails?”

Bucky seems more comfortable with a direct question. “Yes Sir.” He answers without hesitation.

“It’s quite the step down from killing for hire, wouldn’t you say?”

Bucky cocks his head and Steve tries not to smile. “Not so much a step down as a different strain. I’d quite like the change.”

“And I assume you know who I am.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t?” Bucky quips back evenly. 

“I like him,” Tony nods, and Steve beams with pride. He knew Bucky was the right choice. “I’ll just go get Peter.”

Bucky frowns as Tony stands up, but doesn’t comment and instead doesn’t move a muscle until Tony’s gone. Then he turns to Steve with an incredulous expression. “Quite the fucking crowd you’ve got here, Steve. How’d you end up in bed with Tony Stark?”

 _If only you knew,_ Steve thinks, trying not to be insulted at Bucky’s tone. Hey, he can be cool. “He’s a good guy. And he puts you up here and they needed extra protection. You need a place to live. I can’t take care of both Tony and-“

“Peter.” Bucky nods, “I remember. His boy.” The dark haired man sighs and he scratches at his stubble. “I’m sure the perks are great, Stevey, but what the hell are the penalties? What happens to us if his twink gets hurt? What have I been pulled into?”

Steve tries not to wince at Bucky’s tone. It’s not his fault. Steve perhaps hadn’t been…entirely honest over the nature of the relationship between the three of them. He wants to ease Bucky into everything, after all. “He’s not a twink, Bucky. Well not- not just a twink. And- nothing will ever happen to him.”

He must let the emotion spill into his voice because his friend gives him a calculating look.

Fortunately, before he can say anything, the door opens and the two of them turn around and Steve grins, watching Bucky’s face as his eyes land on Peter.

Bucky’s pupils blow wide and Steve chuckles because he knows that feeling. It’s nice to see someone else completely swept away. Bucky’s taking in the long legs and the cream skin and the utter fucking beauty of Peter Parker. The boy looks like he’s just been woken up from a nap; wearing one of Tony’s white dress shirts that hangs down to his thighs, parting invitingly in the middle. Only one button is done up, and there are light purple hickies dotted down his chest. His hair is a fluffy mess and he’s rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Bucky gets to his feet like he can’t help himself and Tony smirks.

“Bucky, this is my boy, Peter. Peter, meet Bucky. Potential new bodyguard.”

Peter’s eyes focus and they flicker over Bucky- taking in the scars and the hair and the bulging muscles and the silver arm. Steve suddenly wants to see them together; the smooth, unmarred (bar the hickies) skin, so soft and delicate next to Bucky’s scarred, thick flesh. “James,” Peter breathes in awe, “I read your file,” and Steve knows that tone of voice. “You have a metal arm! That’s so cool!”

Yeah, Peter likes what he sees.

But Steve also knows Bucky, and he knows Bucky hates it when people say his name but- of course- Bucky doesn’t seem to care at all.

“Peter.” He croaks like a dying man.

Peter takes a step forward, but Tony tugs him back by the scruff of his neck and the boy pouts like he’s being denied a treat. “Steve may vouch for him, sweetheart, but I have my own background checks to do.”

Peter whines, and he stomps his dainty little foot. “So, no touching?” He asks with wide, disappointed and petulant eyes.

Bucky looks like he’s about to collapse.

“Not yet,” Tony says firmly, kissing Peter’s forehead. “But I’m guessing he has your approval?”

Peter nods, looking considerably more awake.

“And Bucky, what do you think of my boy?”

Steve remembers being asked that question. And though the thought of sharing Peter with more people is enough to send a possessive strum burning through him, he thinks he might quite like to see him with Bucky. Tony and Bucky will have to be his exceptions. Bucky’s eyes don’t flicker to Steve’s for help, he just answers the question honestly, like a good employee. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life, Sir.”

Peter flushes with the praise, and looks even sadder that he can’t come over.

* * *

 

Bucky gets the job. 

Stark Mansion is nice. A little too grandiose personally, but after months living in a shack in the woods, a little change up is good. If Bucky’s being honest, he was hoping that maybe he’d be _Tony’s_ bodyguard and not Peter’s, because the boy is…he’s…

Well, he doesn’t get Tony. Steve stays as Tony’s right hand because it’s the harder job and he’s been around longer. Bucky has to grit his teeth and nod as Tony tells him gleefully that Peter will be his top priority. Steve pats him reassuringly but Bucky isn’t reassured.

He’s not fucking reassured at all.

Because Peter Parker is…he’s probably the softest thing Bucky has seen in a long time and Bucky doesn’t…he doesn’t know how to handle soft things. He keeps his hands clasped bruisingly tight in front of him and is a still, silent statue in the corner of every room Peter goes to. He trails behind him like a shadow.

The boy looks at him from time to time, with his big, curious eyes but he never says anything and Bucky tries not to make eye contact for too long because those eyes are bewitching. It doesn’t stop Bucky from watching him throughout the day. It’s the long, drawling summer and Peter spends it frolicking around New York City with his two best friends (who are not on Bucky’s list, so he doesn’t care about them at all) or lounging around the house.

It’s impossible not to watch Peter. Bucky can refrain from touching and talking, but _looking_? That’s ridiculous. No one could do that. Peter is a thing of beauty. So soft and delicate like a fine piece of silk. He moves entirely with grace and elegance. Even when he sits, it’s like a poise, the slope of his neck and the fall of his chestnut locks. He shines under the sun and glows by moonlight and every single inch of him is stunning.

He seems to have no sense of modesty either, but Bucky is just the same. A body is a body in his line of work. Peter has an excellent body, though. Long, lean lines and if Bucky reached out to touch him, he thinks even the lightest drag of his fingers might leave red marks.

Bucky doesn’t talk, Peter doesn’t talk.

It’s a great system.

Until the third week, when, as Bucky stands in the corner of Peter’s bedroom ( _jesus_ , it’s ludicrous. How much money do these people have?) the boy flops onto his stomach on his bed and leans his angelic head in his hands and gazes at Bucky expectantly. “Hey James,” he says and Bucky looks at him in surprise. “Do you like Lana Del Ray?”

Bucky stares at him. “I…don’t know who that is.” He says carefully, wanting to be truthful but not wanting to upset him.

Peter looks like this was the answer he expected, and he reaches for his phone. It’s the latest model, obviously. He has a bunch of laptops too, all SI laptops, all different colours to match whatever he’s wearing that day. “I really like her. Daddy got me concert tickets a few months ago. Me and Steve went. It was amazing.” As he frowns at his phone, tapping away, Bucky admires the way his ass sticks in the air- perfectly shaped in the lace underwear. “Here,” he presses a button, and the entire room starts to croon a low, gentle melody.

_Oh god miss you on my lips, it’s me your little Venice bitch…_

They listen to it for a few minutes, before Peter looks up at him again. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice.” Bucky says noncommittally. He’s never been one for music particularly.

Peter looks at him with his clever doe-eyes. He looks like he’s sizing Bucky up completely. Like he can see right through him. “You’re the only person who doesn’t get hard just by looking at me.” Peter muses. 

Bucky has to replay the words just to make sure he’s heard them right. He swallows thickly and does his best to stay level. “You’re very beautiful.” He says honestly, a little unsteady on his feet. 

Peter rolls his eyes, sitting up onto his knees which are splayed wide, showing that lovely little cock trapped in the white lace. He’s not wearing anything else. He’s stunning. He should model lingerie or something. He’d look beautiful in a potato sack. “I know that.” He says like a spoilt princess. He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “Am I not your type?”

“I find you incredibly beautiful.”

“James,” Peter moans in frustration. The sound goes straight to Bucky’s cock. He pouts, his pink lips wet and Bucky grunts a little.

“Beauty is abstract.” He manages, trying to explain. “I can’t…connect to it. It’s something I can appreciate but…”

“It won’t get you aroused,” Peter nods, looking like he understands. He also looks sad.

Bucky doesn’t like it. “When you- when you moaned just now, that was…” his throat feels dry. “Good.”

“Oh!” Peter chirps, a little more excited. “Like this?” He moans again, shamelessly, his hands trailing down his body and skating over his pink nipples and Bucky clenches his fingernails into his hands.

“Yes. Yes.” He hisses, nodding sharply.

Peter looks alight with ideas, and he pats the bed. “What about touch?”

There is nothing he wants to do more than touch Peter, but he shakes his head, hoping that this won’t be the thing that gets Tony to kill him. Bucky thinks that he could probably take the man, but Tony has the force of many, many, many resources behind him and Bucky won’t be able to outrun them forever. “I can’t touch you.” He says like it pains him.

Peter looks confused. “Tony and Steve won’t mind.”

What does Steve have to do with it? “It’s not about- it’s not that I don’t want to. I just…” he’s killed so many people with his bare hands. He’s built for purpose, everything about him is for danger, not for soft things like Peter. Delicate, pretty things like Peter get destroyed in his hands.

It’s why he and Jarvis get on so well. He and the dog understand each other. They nod at each other and never bother one another. In fact, Bucky’s pretty sure that Jarvis hates getting petted, but takes it from Peter because like everyone else- he’s completely besotted by the boy.

Maybe he’s a witch or something. Just enchanting everyone around him.

Peter gasps like he understands, which Bucky honestly is grateful for, because he’s not sure how eloquently he would have explained his problem. “Here, come.” He demands, patting the bed again.

Bucky glances at the door. In his weeks protecting Peter so far, there’s never been any issue, but he’s reluctant to get distracted and leave his post. However, Peter’s eyes are insistent, and he crosses the room slowly, gun still tucked into his waistband as he reaches the foot of the bed.

It’s a little awkward, climbing into the absurdly plush mattress but eventually he manages to sit cross legged opposite Peter without feeling completely ridiculous. Music is still playing quietly and Peter snuggles near him, so their knees are touching and he’s so small. He has to look up at Bucky. “Can I…” he lifts his dainty hands and gestures to Bucky’s face.

Bucky nods.

He gasps when Peter’s fingers trace the scars on his face. The boy’s skin is so soft. It’s like warm silk and satin, and it feels like heaven against his skin. He leans into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut and he can feel Peter’s breath against his cheek. He stills, not moving as Peter’s fingers trail over his eyebrows and his lips, and then the scars on his jaw. He’s never felt anything like this. He’s unbelievably soft, like a feather who might fly away in a strong gust of wind.

When Peter’s lips touch him, he’s accosted with the taste of strawberries, sugar and rose petals.

The boy’s skin is like a fucking rose petal, it’s so soft and Bucky is so coarse and rough and he can’t help it when his hands come up to cradle Peter’s jaw.

And then the slip of Peter’s tongue and he’s overwhelmed. Everything is coiling inside him and he pushes forward desperately, finally taking like he’s wanted to for so long.

Peter mewls and lets out a small _oof_ when his back hits the bed and Bucky’s over him; aching in his pants. “Touch me,” he demands, and Peter immediately replaces his fingers on Bucky’s face, trailing up to his hair and stroking the pads of of his fingers and thumb across his skin.

Peter’s hands tangle in his hair and he tugs hard, and Bucky barely feels it. The boy is so small and weak and it feels incredible against his scalp and he kisses him harder-

Christ, he’s embarrassingly close, and he can feel that gorgeous soft body pressed completely against him and-

“ _Ah, ah_ , stop,” Peter pants and Bucky immediately rears back to see Peter rubbing at his neck with a wince.

There are red marks all down it.

Bucky swallows hard, guilt flushing up inside him but before he can scramble away in a fit of self-loathing, Peter hooks his ankle around him and flips them over. “I think I need to be on top,” he whispers with a small smile and Bucky nods, hands falling to his sides as he stares and leans into every one of the boy’s caresses as he straddles him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he whines in a pant, grinding his lace-clad ass against Bucky’s bulging erection. “I love the dominance, but not before you know how to reel in some of that strength.”

That’s fair. That’s _ungh_ , that’s fair.

He cums when Peter kisses the scar on his collar and the boy follows not a second after.

He spends the next few days waiting for someone to kill him over what’s happened, but no one does. Tony glares at him and sets a knife on the desk and says that if Peter ever gets hurt again, Bucky won’t have hands anymore, and Steve just smiles encouragingly and says that he knows Bucky wouldn’t ever do anything like that on purpose.

Still.

Now that he knows what the boy feels like, it’s nearly impossible to stop touching him. He practises petting Peter, as gently as he can, hands trembling with nerves as Peter encourages him.

He even gets his flesh hand around Peter’s tiny, perfect cock and the boy nuzzles into his throat nodding and purring like a kitten. “Yeah, yeah, like that,” Peter murmurs, hips bucking jerkily. Bucky grunts, achingly hard, stroking a bit faster. Peter whimpers- “ _ah_ -ah- gentle, gentle-“ and Bucky immediately curses and loosens his fist.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

Peter doesn’t hear his apology, he’s too busy teetering over the edge of his orgasm, spilling his hot release into Bucky’s fingers and collapsing limp and boneless into his his arms.

He’s still working on it.

Peter likes his metal arm a lot, even though Bucky is reluctant to use it. It’s clear the boy likes the mechanical coldness, but Bucky uses that arm to inflict violence and he doesn’t want it anywhere near Peter until he’s mastered being gentle.

It’s a lot more interesting being Peter’s bodyguard now that he can touch that stunning body. But Steve offers a word of warning not to get too lax, and Bucky glares at him because he’s never once dropped his guard.

Peter makes him tempted to, but he never would.

It all clicks into place when he rises to get some water one night- accosted with the usual nightmares (oddly, since Peter, they’ve been lessening), and he sees Steve carrying Peter bridal style down the hallway to Tony’s room.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh.” Bucky whispers into the darkness. 

Jarvis tiredly yaps up (he’s taken to sleeping with Bucky) at him and Bucky smiles, impressed despite himself. 

“Fucking Steve. He’s got game.”

It’s kinda hot. The thought of it all. He gets Peter all to himself most of the day but whenever Steve and Tony are back, it’s like the boy is gone from him. It shouldn’t be a problem really, because it’s not like Bucky cares. He just appreciates and wants to worship a body that soft and gorgeous. Maybe sight has never been enough of a sense in the world of desire for him, but Peter gasps and moans like music. He smells like heaven and his touch is other worldly. And he tastes- god, he tastes fantastic.

But ultimately, it’s just desire.

That’s all it is. He definitely doesn’t feel his heart stutter whenever he sees his metal arm curled around Peter almost without his will and how comfortable the boy looks tucked into his side.

It’s just desire.

Bucky wouldn’t know how to feel anything else.

 

“Come on,” Peter says brightly, putting the tupperware containers into his backpack. Bucky frowns, watching the boy across the kitchen counter. Peter is dolled up today- highwaisted denim jeans and a pale blue pastel sweater out of the hundreds in that wonderland of a wardrobe. He’s gorgeous, but he’s gone further today. There’s something like glitter on his cheeks and his nails are shiny and Bucky would really like to swallows his cock and hear him cry out again.

“You haven’t said where we’re going.” He points out. 

“We’re surprising Tony,” Peter beams, slinging his backpack on.

Bucky follows him warily out into the sunshine. “Is that a good idea?” The thought of disrupting the head of the mafia doesn’t seem like the smartest thing in the world.

“Daddy always has time for me.”

It’s hard to argue with that.

Bucky’s been shown the warehouse that Tony spends a lot of his time before. Well, it’s a warehouse on the outside, but inside- it’s a hectic space of refinery and torture and money. Still, he feels trepidatious as they approach the guarded gates. He’s got his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary, and his arm and gun ready.

Peter, however, seems perfectly at ease. He skips up to one of the guards in the sunshine and Bucky has to grit his teeth when he sees Peter kiss him. It’s a filthy kiss, with tongues and teeth and the guard slips a hand down to Peter’s ass and squeezes hard.

“I’m sorry about Hannah, Clint,” Peter pouts breathlessly after they part and Clint shrugs, eyes on Peter’s lips. “You’ll find someone else.”

“Kid, I’m batting them away. This your bodyguard?”

Bucky could crush this guy’s throat and toss him into a creek. He glares daggers at him and feels a rush of evil pride when Clint swallows thickly and looks away. “Yeah! This is Bucky!” Peter gushes, unaware, and Clint nods dubiously.

“Alright, head in, hon’.”

Bucky makes sure to bare his teeth a little at Clint as they pass and the man shudders.

He’s not surprised that Peter’s…intimate, with a lot of people in Stark’s operation. Bucky surmises that maybe the relationship between Steve and Tony is a little different, and that’s what makes it okay. There’s a closeness there. Bucky doesn’t know how he feels. The thought of Steve and Tony sandwiching Peter between them is hot as shit, but that’s it. That’s all.

The boy’s a hungry little cockslut who gives the best blowjobs in the world but surely he doesn’t need more men in his life. Steve and Tony and-and maybe Bucky. They’re enough. Clint and any others? They’re superfluous. 

Inside, they head to Tony’s office and sure enough, Peter waltzes right in like he owns the place and Tony doesn’t look mad at all.

In fact, he looks pleasantly surprised. Bucky nods at Steve, who’s stationed off to the side, looking every bit the perfect bodyguard. Peter bounds over to Tony and kisses his cheek. “Hey, daddy,”

“Hey, baby,” Tony smiles, “what’s up?”

Peter sets his backpack on the desk, just on top of all of Tony’s work and Bucky lifts his eyebrows; impressed. Steve’s got a similar look on his face, before Peter takes out the two tupperware containers. “I bought you some lunch.”

Tony hums happily, reaching for the container full of what looks like pasta and sausage before Peter slaps his hand.

“Salad first, daddy!” He orders.

Jesus. The little brat owns him.

Tony grumbles, but oblidges and reaches for the container full of leafy greens and Peter rewards him with a kiss.

“What about Rogers?” Tony gripes, “why isn’t he being subjected to this?”

Peter flits over to Steve and tiptoes to kiss him sweetly. “Because I trust Steve to get a healthy lunch, whereas I know you’ve been sneaking bacon.”

Steve beams. 

This is- this is precious. Bucky almost wants to laugh. The leader of the mafia and his bodyguard are whipped by a tiny twink in pastel sweaters and nailpolish.

It’s weak and pathetic and-

“Oh my gosh, James! We have to show them the cool thing we can do!” Peter exclaims, rushing over to him. Bucky holds his metal arm out obligingly, lowering it to the ground and Peter places his right foot on the palm before they lock eyes and nod.

Bucky lifts his arm up and Peter flips into the air, landing elegantly across the room.

“Isn’t that _so_ cool?”

Tony looks so fucking amused and even Steve’s mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “It’s very cool,” Steve says and Tony nods in concurrence but they’re both looking at Bucky like _he’s_ the one who’s whipped and he’s not and-

Peter gives him a hopeful look and bats his eyelashes and Bucky thinks fuck, and lowers his arm again. So maybe he is whipped, he thinks, as Peter rewards him with a kiss on the lips. 

There are worse things to be. 

* * *

“You don’t feel jealous or anything?” Peter asks, as they head into the dance studio in the West Wing of the mansion.

Steve shakes his head, a little dazed from staring at Peter’s ass in the leotard. “No, no. Bucky’s always been better in close hand to hand, it makes more sense that he goes with Tony for this meet. Besides, it gives me a chance to see you. I’ve missed you.”

Peter giggles, and holds open the door as they both head inside. “You saw me last night, remember? When we tried…” he lifts his eyebrows and Steve looks away with a blush.

Of course he remembers. How could he not? For the first time, the head of his dick nudging against Peter’s already filled hole, slowly, gently, pushing in alongside Tony until they were both buried deep and Peter was sobbing and begging for more.

It had been one of the best sensations of Steve’s life.

He hopes that one day, one day soon maybe, they can ask Bucky to join them (god knows Tony’s bed is big enough). But Bucky can be slow on the uptake about these kinds of things, and even though Steve’s told him about their relationship, nothing’s come of it yet. In truth, the progress had been a little stunted by the red marks on Peter’s neck and Bucky’s guilt soaked expression.

Tony had wanted to kill him, but Steve had swallowed his panic and pleaded for one of his oldest friends.

It’s a plea that’s paid off. Bucky and Peter are a thing of beauty together, and Steve’s happy to see Bucky, slowly but surely, easing out of his shell.

 _Marina and the Diamonds_ starts playing, and Steve sits by Jarvis as Peter begins practising the routine. It’s beautiful, watching him dance. Hypnotising and Steve could do it all day.

But it also makes him sad. He knows that Peter wanted to be a ballerina. That it was his first love and true passion but an old injury to his ankle had stopped him. There’s a tiny scar near his foot- where years ago, Tony had paid for expensive surgery to have the bone realigned. It’s one of the reasons Peter loves Tony so much. Tony gave him back that chance, because even though Peter can never enter the professional league, the surgery allowed him to take dancing back up.

Jarvis lets a low howl along with the music, and gets to his feet like he wants to rush over to Peter and play.

Steve grins as he remembers hearing Bucky humming to Lana Del Ray this morning. Yeah, they’re all crazy for this dancing sweetheart. Steve holds Jarvis’s collar firmly, because as adorable as it is when Peter falls asleep on the couch- a tiny little thing in the corner, and Jarvis wraps around him and growls at anyone who comes near- the boy needs space to practise.

Peter’s like a swan, like an angel, like a sprite, gliding across water as he spins. The practise room is the perfect mini studio, with the gold bar mounted along the walls and mirrors on every surface.

The song swirls to a crescendo and Peter lands a little hard on his foot.

His left foot.

He lets out a tiny yelp, and holds the position for a second, before easing to the ground.

Steve rushes to him and Jarvis bounds along too. He pulls Peter’s foot gently onto his lap, cradling it. “Are you okay?” He whispers and Peter nods, a little sweaty.

“Just twinged it. That was a bad landing. Next time, you should help me stretch again,” he winks.

Steve groans. Helping Peter stretch is his favourite past time. They way they’re pressed flush together, Peter’s ass in his groin as he bends over, Steve’s thick fingers working into Peter’s thighs and legs and helping him pull his arms high over his head, stretching him out before him like a feast. His cock twitches at the memory, and Peter feels it against the heel of his foot.

“Or maybe you could help me now.” He teases suggestively.

Steve shushes him, and unlaces the bows and eases Peter’s pump off, to gently trace around the scar as he works the kink out of Peter’s ankle. The boy relaxes a little and sighs, looking at Steve fondly.

“You’re such a softie.”

“Isn’t everyone, around you?”

“No, not everyone,” Peter hums thoughtfully, “Daddy is…” he shudders with want, “dominant. Daddy treats me like his good little boy.”

Steve knows that much. “What about Bucky?”

“Bucky’s amazing.” Peter sighs lovingly, “he’s so rough and gentle at the same time- I feel sore all over once he’s done.”

“And- and what about me?”

Peter grins, leaning forward and bending his knee so he can kiss Steve’s cheek. “We’re passionate. In sync. We always cum together, and you fill me up so good.”

Steve growls, low in his chest and grabs Peter’s thighs, dragging the boy into his lap as Peter squeals in delight. He encourages the boy to wrap his legs aorund his waist.

He gets the message pretty quickly.

 

So, after ~~mirror sex~~ ballet practise, Steve and Peter eat pizza and watch the Hunchback of Notredam before Steve’s phone buzzes.

It’s Natasha. They’re on their way home with a captive. **A bad one.**

He tells Peter, who sighs, and decides he’ll watch the rest of the movie upstairs with Jarvis. 

Steve thinks that’s probably for the best.

He _definitely_ thinks it’s for the best two hours later.

Because they’re in the basement and the guy in front of them- well, _Jesus_.

Even Bucky, even _Bucky_ , looks mildly disgusted.

The man on the ground- Bill, Steve thinks his name is, has legs that are almost completely mangled. Tony looks a little drunk off the power and Clint is egging him on and Natasha and Steve are wrinkling their nose in distaste and Bucky gives them pointers on where the bone is easiest to break.

It’s weird to think that he was watching a disney movie a few hours ago. And now, now Tony is punishing some guy for going after Stephen’s crew after their make-shift alliance. Strange is on his way, and Tony clearly wants to put on a show to prove he’s good on his promises.

Life is funny.

“Daddy!” They hear an excited voice call as the door to the basement opens. “I got in an A in my final exam!”

Tony has enough time to turn around and yell: “No! Peter baby, don’t look! Don’t come down here!”

 _Just_ before Peter’s head appears to take in the scene.

A fraction of a second too late.

Steve frowns in confusion. It’s gross, but Peter’s seen worse.

Except- has he? Because he goes pale all over, an ashen colour Steve has never seen. He steps forward worriedly but Tony is already rushing to the steps and cursing as he yanks Peter’s gaze away viciously from where it’s stuck on the man’s legs and covers his eyes.

“Baby,” Tony curses, inadvertently smearing blood over the boy’s face, “baby, no- I said- _fuck_.”

“He-he- he’s-“ Peter stammers, shaking like a leaf. 

“Jesus, Tony.” Natasha snarls, “you told me he wouldn’t come down.”

“I don’t understand.” Bucky frowns, backhanding the guy on the floor so he falls unconcious and stops crying. “What’s wrong?”

Peter had been looking at-

Oh shit. The man’s legs- his ankle- “Fuck, Tony,” Steve hisses as he realises, “you should’ve-“

“Yeah, okay,” Tony snaps, still cradling Peter to his chest. He’s got his arms completely wrapped around the boy and Peter sounds like he’s sobbing. “I screwed up, okay? Now help me.”

Peter is trembling and shaking and there are tears in his eyes. Steve scoops him up and carries him upstairs. He sets him on the kitchen counter as Peter hiccups. “S-s-sorry daddy,” he stammers as Steve wipes his tears.

Tony shakes his head, “no baby, no, god, it was my fault- Get Bruce! He’s gonna go into shock and have a panic attack.”

“Has this happened before?” Bucky demands angrily, slamming his arm onto the counter so hard that it shakes as he struggles to make sense of everything.

Clint is dialling Bruce and Natasha is up on the counter beside the boy, stroking Peter’s hair and encouraging him to breathe nice and deep. Steve holds Peter’s knees and looks up into those eyes.

They’re dazed. Clouded. “He had an ankle injury as a kid,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky pauses.

“Like PTSD,” Bucky whispers to himself, and then he turns his furious gaze onto Stark. “And you knew? And you didn’t give us any fucking warning?”

“D-don’t f-fight,” Peter gasps, choking on the air. Bucky snaps his mouth shut, but doesn’t stop fuming. 

“Don’t speak, baby,” Natasha urges, kissing his temple.

Clint steps forward then, with bad news: “Fuck, Tony, Bruce isn’t answering.”

“I’m gonna kill him.” Tony growls, pulling out his own phone when Nat looks up- like a thought has occured to her.

“We do have a doctor on the way.” She says, and Steve frowns in confusion.

“Really? Who?”

“Strange.” She whispers.

“No. Fuck that. No way.” Clint growls, “not fucking Strange.”

“I second that.” Tony shouts, “I’m not letting him near Peter-“

The boy falls forward, limp into Steve’s arms: unconscious.

“I don’t know who the fuck ‘Strange’ is,” Bucky hisses, “but if he’s a doctor, we need him.”


	4. I'm Gonna Call You Bambi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter muses on his three loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, imagine if his loves were: pizza, ice-cream and pizza

Peter loves his life.

Sure, it’s not…conventional. It stopped being conventional the day Tony Stark had sat next to him in a coffee shop.

Peter hadn’t known who he was. Everyone does, but Peter hadn’t. Because Tony hadn’t looked like Tony. He’d been a broken, scraggly man in a coffee shop on a rainy Thursday, near tears because his best friend was thinking about leaving for China and Tony was alone and abandoned. Shaken to his core.

They’ve come a long way since then.

There are three men in his life who would he would anything for, and he’s going to get their names tattooed over his heart someday.

The first one is Tony Stark.

* * *

 

His first love. Tony wields darkness like a weapon and exudes power from every pore. It’s the most attractive thing Peter has ever seen. It gets him so hot, his blood burning under his skin with temptation.

Tony loves Peter best when he’s all dolled up.

Peter likes it too. He shimmies into his most expensive lingerie, garter belt and stockings, the newest make up palette sweeping over his cheeks. He wears the most expensive perfumes, he douses himself in luxury and he waits in Tony’s bed, stretched out and expectant.

Tony walks in and the stress around his eyes dissipates. He loosens his black tie and unbuttons his black shirt as he walks to the bed. “You’ve been waiting for daddy, baby?” He asks, voice husky, and Peter preens and purrs, stretching out against the sheets. Tony is so handsome. With his dark eyes and his dark hair and his clever smile. He’s smug and he has every right to be. Peter is putty in his hands.

Putty and also…a little bit of a brat. How can he not be? Tony obviously loves it and Peter loves it too. He loves the pouting, and the whining and the expectant look. He loves asking for the most outrageous, insanely priced things he can wish for and watching them drop into his lap like magic. It’s not that he never thought he was attractive before Tony, but Tony…Tony gives him some of his cockiness. Gives him some of that power and Peter likes to soak it in. Relish in his seductive prowess. “I’m always waiting for you,” he sighs, sounding put-out. “You’re always working.”

Tony grins, unbuckling his belt. “Is that right?”

Peter rolls onto his back languidly, drawing a thigh up to show off the sheer fabric of the stocking. Tony’s eyes are glued to the swell of his ass and it’s Peter’s turn to smile. When Tony reaches out to touch him, he rolls away with a teasingly giggle. “Not even any presents?” He asks, batting his long eyelashes and Tony looks like he could fucking eat him up right here. Peter toys with the bedsheets. “No presents after waiting for you _all_ day? I got myself all pretty for you.”

“You’re stunning,” Tony corrects, but he heads over to the chest of drawers and pulls open the top one. Peter sits up eagerly. Tony keeps all of Peter’s presents in that drawer, and Peter knows better than to ever go looking through them. There’s a never ending supply of fantastically brilliant gifts always at the ready. Never for any occasion, mind you, just for when they feel like getting in the mood. Peter watches as Tony picks out a blue box and heads back.

He gets onto his knees on the bed and looks up expectantly. “What is it, daddy?” He whispers, and Tony leans down to kiss him on the forehead. He smells like cigars and money.

Tony pops open the lid and Peter gasps a little. It doesn’t matter how many gifts he gets, no matter how gorgeous or expensive, they never fail to amaze him. The little diamond heart sits on a white plush pillow and sparkles like stars. The chain is as fine moonbeams and Peter lifts his head, baring his slender neck. Tony pulls it out, and his fingers are so big, his hands so dark and rough; adorned in the gold ring Peter got him two birthdays ago, and an expensive watch. The pads of his fingertips drag over Peter’s collar as they fasten the dainty thing, clasped perfectly on him.

It’s probably more expensive than his childhood home. It feels as light as a feather. He touches it appreciatively. “I love it, daddy,” he whispers, staring up.

The older man tips Peter’s chin up and hovers just above his lips. “I love you, baby,” he growls, before engulfing him in a deep, bruising kiss.

Sex with Tony is…it’s the _best_.

He could talk about it all day, but Ned hadn’t really liked that.

Tony fucks him like he owns him, which he does, of course. Peter wouldn’t have it any other way. Fucks him like he’s not afraid Peter will break. Tony fucks him brutally, so Peter’s face down in the pillows, his hips canted up as Tony goes in achingly deep and he can’t even talk, he can only drool and beg for more.

There’s not much in the way of tenderness, though of course, sometimes they like it soft. It’s just…soft isn’t really them. Tony is his daddy and Tony fucks him so good he can’t even remember his name. And he’s Tony’s good little boy who just wants more- more more of his daddy’s cock.

Tony likes it when Peter cums untouched against his stomach; spurting and crying out as Tony pins his wrists down under one large hand and braces against his hip with the other, continuing to thrust with abandon. He likes it when Peter cums, but he doesn’t care much either way. It’s not so much about Peter. Tony will stop when he’s ready to stop, whether Peter’s cum or not. It doesn’t matter if he’s sobbing with the sensations, overstimulation _hurting so good_ , it’s about daddy.

Of course, afterwards, Tony tells him what a good boy he is, and if Peter hasn’t cum (which is very, very rare) he’ll whisper dirty, depraved, fantastically hot things into his ear and stroke Peter’s hair as he lets him rut against a silk pillow.

It’s fantastic.

He aches, but he’s never bruised, he has beard burn down his neck and he wobbles a little on his feet the next day.

It’s just how Tony likes it.

 

Tony also likes showing Peter off and Peter…well, he likes being shown off too.

“It’s because you’re an attention whore,” MJ points out one day after class and Peter just shoves her playfully.

But she’s right.

Tony takes him to the classiest events in the world. Balls and galas, in the very uppermost sections of society. Tony buys him outfits and parades him around and Peter loves to make his daddy look good, and _he_ loves looking good.

“Tony,” Norman nods, smile tense. His eyes drag over Peter but Peter pretends not to even notice. He’s pressed tight against his daddy’s side and his role here isn’t to be too smart. He’s pretty, sweet, innocent eye-candy and god he loves it. It scratches an itch way deep inside to just be the piece of sex on legs that everybody wants. “And Peter.” Norman continues, “how are you, sweetheart?”

Tony’s hand is an irongrip on his waist and Peter resists the urge to smile. The Mafia Boss may love bringing Peter on these trips, but he gets possessive so quickly. “I’m so good, Mr Osborn.” He says politely, making sure to bite his lip and look as demure as possible. “Daddy- I mean, Tony, was about to let me have my first taste of scotch, weren’t you?” He places his tiny hand on Tony’s chest and looks up at him.

The grip on his waist softens and Tony’s eyes are warm and proud and pleased and Peter shivers because he knows he’ll be rewarded with a nice, long, brutal fuck tonight. “I’m not sure, baby,” Tony murmurs, “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

They can feel the jealousy radiating off Norman in waves. “You’re too tough on the boy,” he manages through gritted teeth and a waning smile. “Let him try some.”

Tony looks like he could shoot Norman in the head right now for trying to tell him what to do, but he rises above it with a gleam in his eye that tells Peter he’s had a clever idea. Because Tony is so clever. So smart. He reaches for a glass of scotch off the bar (because in Tony’s world, whatever you need is always right there) and dips two of his fingers into the amber liquid.

Peter grins, almost rocking on his heels in excitement.

Norman lasts approximately fifteen seconds of Peter phallating Tony’s fingers like a desperate slut, before he excuses himself for the bathroom.

They burst out laughing.

“Alright, minx,” Tony chuckles into Peter’s hair, “I need you out of those clothes.”

Peter squeals happily, and tugs Tony impatiently towards their hotel room.

 

If Tony’s his _first love_ then Steve…

Steve is his _true love_.

Peter had fallen hard for those bright blue eyes, that blond hair and that bashful smile. How could anyone not have? And kind- kind to a fault, kind right down to his bones.

Of all the people in Peter’s life, he and Steve get on the best. There’s no one he can laugh as much with, spend the entire day with, it’s like…it’s like they’re two halves of the same coin.

Peter thinks sometimes if…if the world wasn’t like this, and he was a normal boy and Steve was a normal boy…he thinks he and Steve would have found each other anyway.

There’s something natural there. Instinctive and wondrous and so easy. Effortless love is in all the movies but Peter never thought it could be so much fun.

It had made him love Tony even more. Even more fiercely because he didn’t have to say yes. Sure, he’d shared Peter before, once or twice when Peter had found someone undeniably attractive and it had been beneficial to ease a transition along, but…but Steve was different. And Tony had seen it, and Tony had simply kissed him and let it happen.

Peter’s heart has four pieces. He gave the first to Tony and he’s never ever regretted it. Tony makes every day an adventure and Peter would anything for him.

He gave his second piece to Steve.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching Disney movies with you,” Steve says quietly on a Friday night as they both camp out on the couch and watch Melody wish to be a mermaid. Peter looks over at him and grins, shuffling over to lie in his arms and play with his hands.

“I love you,” Peter murmurs, peeking up to kiss the underside of Steve’s spectacular jaw and he can feel the man practically vibrate with lust, but he doesn’t do more than kiss Peter’s temple like a gentleman.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Steve had fallen first. Peter knows that now. At first, he’d thought it was typical lust, but then he’d seen it for what it was. It was the _Velveteen Rabbit_ on his birthday, it was the pain in his eyes at Peter’s tears, it was applauding him on the night of his ballet recital. But it hadn’t taken long at all for Peter to fall. And as usual, Steve’s caught him.

Steve loves Peter all the time, every day, but he, like everyone, has their preferences.

He prefers Peter in the middle of the working week. A little tired from class, hair a little messy, projects to be done and deadlines to be met. He loves Peter in his glasses. With his oversized pastel sweaters and denim booty shorts or leggings. He loves Peter when he yawns, with a pencil behind his ear and cookie crumbs around his mouth.

Peter yelps around a laugh as Steve reaches over to kiss him suddenly. He grins, leaning into it for a moment, before pulling away. They’re both lying on his bed, side by side on their stomachs. Peter, with a book splayed open in front of him, and Steve with his phone out and _Over the Garden Wall_ on (Tony pays for everyone’s Netflix). Peter grins. He’s managed to convert Tony to cheese-in-the crust pizza, Steve to netflix shows, and Bucky to Lana Del Ray ( _and Marina and the Diamonds)_. Not bad for one lifetime. “What was that for?” He teases and Steve flushes.

“I couldn’t help myself.”

Suffice to say that his essay is quickly forgotten.

Sex with Steve is…Sex with Steve is a thing of beauty. They move in harmony, like one being. In perfect sync. They won’t always get all their clothes off, they’ll never have planned it, and they’ll be as close as physically possible. Sex with Steve is Steve sitting on the bed with Peter on top of him, his legs wrapped around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s arms wrapped around him, hands splayed across his back. Every inch of them is touching and Peter can just bury his fingers in that hair and they kiss almost the whole time; passionate and intoxicated like they can’t get enough.

Like they can’t bear to be apart from each other for one single moment. They whisper things too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve chokes, pushing up into Peter in a particularly slow, deep thrust. Peter’s toes curl in awe and he throws his head back with the slow burning sensation as it builds up higher and higher.

“You are,” he insists breathlessly, and they lock eyes. Steve’s are only rimmed blue, pupils blown and he looks like an angel. “So kind, so- so wonderful and I love you,” tears spring suddenly with the force, the emotion, with everything and Steve launches forward to kiss him hard.

“I love you,” Steve chants, and Peter chants it too, until it’s all they can say, all they can hear until- together-

They topple over the edge.

Then they lie in bed and watch Netflix, sticky and sweaty and completely unwilling to part from one another. They touch each other softly, laughing at whatever they’re watching and then Peter will order something sweet and Steve will feed it to him and make jokes about his sweet tooth and in the morning, Steve will desperately try to help him make his deadline and Peter feels another, crucial part of him, satisfied beyond belief.

Tony buys VIP tickets to movies, to theme parks, to concerts and he and Steve got to all of them. Tony isn’t one for childish events, but he always gives them the tickets and Peter kisses him and reminds him to stay away from cigars for a whole month (because that’s how they say ‘I love you’, with little gestures more than words), before they go off together.

Everything is doubly fun with Steve. Picnics in the summer, sneaking kisses in the back of a movie theatre; screaming on a rollercoaster and- the best part, is when Steve puts him up on his shoulders at a concert and Peter is on top of the world. They go to the beach and they eat ice cream.

It’s like having a best friend who you have sex with. It’s the best. Steve reads to him every night, and Peter could get lost in that voice.

“ _I_ could get lost in your dancing,” Steve murmurs, carrying Peter into bed because he carries Peter everywhere and Peter loves it.

The younger boy yawns hugely and nuzzles into his pillows. “I could get lost in those eyes,”

“Well, I could get lost in your beauty,”

“Well, I could-“

“Hey, lovebirds,” Tony laughs from the doorway. “You’re both gonna get lost unless you get some sleep. Early day tomorrow.”

Peter and Steve giggle.

It’s a breathless wholesome wonderland and when he’s with Steve it’s like nothing can ever go wrong.

 

If Tony is his _first love_ , and Steve is his _true love_ , then Bucky is…

Bucky is his _great love._

And great loves are hard. Great loves can end in tragedy.

But his and Bucky’s won’t.

Arm of metal, heart of gold.

If it were a spectrum, Peter sees Tony on one end, Bucky on the other and Steve right in the middle. Tony is confident and manipulative and he takes what he wants when he wants it.

Bucky is…unsure. Worried. A little torn.

Loving Bucky, and getting Bucky’s love has changed Peter the most. Bucky doesn’t have a favourite Peter. Bucky loves every Peter. Bucky is awed and intimidated by and attracted to every single Peter Parker. In diamonds, in gardening clothes, in nothing at all.

When it comes to sex, of course, Bucky does have a tendency to like it best when Peter is as soft as possible. He’s a giant, tactile being. He reminds Peter of a big wolf. He likes it when Peter spends ages coating himself in expensive oils and creams, he likes rubbing them in for him. He marvels at how soft Peter is, and Peter marvels at how hard Bucky is, and not just in the fun away.

Every inch of him is scarred and beautiful, hard flesh and muscle like stone.

It can make sex tricky.

Peter isn’t a huge fan of pain. Tony gets it just right, but with Bucky- pain is an accidental byproduct more than an intentional result. Whenever Peter winces or whimpers of squirms away because Bucky’s just a little too tight, a little too firm, the older man jumps away; wrecked and destroyed with guilt. Whenever that happens, Peter has to talk him back into trying again.

“But I want you,” he pouts, reaching out to touch Bucky’s hand.

Bucky has long dark hair, and perfect eyes and is the broadest, most muscular man Peter has ever seen. He is the perfect specimen of masculinity. They look so good together. Pretty in pink meets The Hardened Soldier. Except Bucky isn’t hard inside. He’s soft and sad inside. “No, Peter.” He says firmly, pulling his hand away. “I won’t hurt you again.”

He even manages to hold out on his promise for longer than anyone else has managed to resist fucking Peter. Two whole days.

But in the end, Peter’s sniffling and crying is too much for him. Just like Tony, and Steve and everyone else; they’re weak at Peter’s tears. The strongest, toughest man’s kryptonite. 

Tony will kill whoever caused them, Steve will say sweet things and soothe it however he can, and Bucky just worships him.

He makes love to Peter like it’s what he was put on earth to do.

And not just the first time.

 _Every_ time.

They still have to be a little careful, but fewer and farther in between. Peter lies there, trembling as Bucky reveres him. Honours him like some sacred shrine. He takes Peter’s little cock into his mouth and watches as Peter clutches at the sheets and begs for more. He rims Peter, eats him out for so long, long enough that he’s a little dizzy with arousal, his voice hoarse with begging futilely for more.

Only after he’s brought Peter off _at least_ two times, does he get to feel the delicious cold metal finger push into his hole.

He’s always so thoroughly stretched and prepped. He’s impatient and a little huffy but Bucky never wavers. Never takes him too fast, never rushes. When they have sex, Bucky seems to get off on Peter getting off.

Tony chases his own pleasure, but Bucky only gives.

Both are undeniably hot.

He touches Bucky everywhere, traces over every scar with his tongue and his hands, holds onto that hair for dear life when Bucky hits his prostate perfectly every single time. He screams and moans and cries out as loud as he can because Bucky loves it. Every time he makes a noise, the older man grunts, sweat forming along his brow from the effort it’s taking not to go any harder than he is.

Peter’s told him so many times, that he can. He can go as hard as he wants, but Bucky has reserve.

Peter doesn’t understand all of it. He knows that Bucky is more dangerous, stronger and more physically capable than anyone he’s ever known. He knows Bucky struggles to keep a lid on it, so he doesn’t push any further than this. If this is what Bucky thinks he has to do, then Peter won’t do anything.

He does secretly go to Tony, and ask in a quiet voice if maybe he’d offer to pay for some help. For a professional that Bucky could talk to.

Tony doesn’t even need to hear the end before it’s done.

But Bucky is angry. He’s betrayed.

“It’s none of your business, Peter.” He snarls, ferocious and scary, pacing like a caged up hound. “You have no idea okay, you have no idea, here in this fucking castle, so naive-“

The words hurt, but Peter stands face in the brave of them. He blinks back tears and holds his ground. “You have nightmares.” He says, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice. “You have nightmares and I don’t _want_ you to have nightmares. I love you, James. If you…if you hate me, then fine. But please, just go to one.”

Bucky wavers, the beast melting away for the prince within. “I don’t hate you,” he mutters under his breath, “I could never hate you.”

Peter gives him a hopeful, watery smile. “Promise?”  

“Yeah, darlin,” he sighs, “I don’t think it’s possible for me to do anything but love you.”

Their sex is still…how to put it…Peter feeling like some sort of goddess that Bucky is lavishing, and you know, who is he to complain? Bucky gets off on it, and Peter does too. How could he not?

But sometimes, on good days, he can get Bucky to be a little selfish. Not a lot, never a lot, Peter always has to cum first, but sometimes Bucky will whisper, barely there: “Moan for me, please, honey, just a little…”

And Peter beams and does more than just moan.

He always aches in the best way. Never so much sore as wrung out. So completely strung with pleasure. There are times when Bucky’s dominant, when he’s feeling jovial and safe but most of the time, when he pins Peter down, it’s to lick from his nipples down to his dick and hey-

dominance comes in lots of ways.

Peter’s just a very lucky submissive goddess.

When it comes to free time, it’s different with Bucky. With Tony, it’s events and private jets and trips around the world. With Steve, it’s anything and everything, movies to baking to gardening to theme parks. With Bucky it’s…

It’s long, quiet walks through the New York forestry.

They don’t go often, and most of their time together is companionable one-sided silence. Bucky is a quiet creature and is content for Peter to chatter away at him like a bird. Peter will vent and exhaust everything that’s ever troubled him and Bucky will nod sagely like some wise old owl and not remark or offer any solution, but just show he’s been listening and that he understands.

It’s lovely.

Their walks are lovely too.

They’re for Bucky, more than Peter, but Peter likes it. He likes it because Bucky likes it. He makes a morose figure, tall and sombre faced as they crunch over leaves and twigs and get enfolded into greenery. It’s very serious and quiet and at one with nature.

Or it would be, if Peter wasn’t ambling behind.

“Peter,” Bucky murmurs disapprovingly, “you’re ambling behind. You have to stick to the trail.”

Peter turns towards the sound of the voice but can’t see his ~~bodyguard, lover, boyfriend~~ great love. He waits a beat, and then Bucky appears through the low hanging branches of a faded willow tree. “I saw a butterfly!” Peter exclaims, bounding up to him and holding out his hands.

The little buttercup butterfly sits in his palm. He looks up to see Bucky’s mouth twitching just a little. In that way that it does when he’s obviously trying to be cool and aloof and unimpressed, but really, he’s as love struck as everyone else. “You have a thing with animals. Why am I not surprised? Like your eyes. I’m gonna start calling you bambi.”

He likes that a lot. Peter lets the little butterfly fly away and he cuddles under Bucky’s non-metal arm as he steers them back to the trail. “Animals are great,” Peter agrees merrily, “I love Jarvis.”

Ah Jarvis. He’s the best dog in the whole entire world and he’s such a goofball with his lolling tongue and soft eyes. Tony, for some reason, keeps insisting that the thing is a vicious monster but Peter disagrees. Besides, if that’s the case, it’s only because Jarvis wants to be an Alpha, but Tony is top dog.

Steve and Jarvis get along great. They don’t play together or anything, even though Peter would love it if they did, but they seem to take it in turns to look after him. If Steve isn’t around, Jarvis is, and if Jarvis isn’t around, Steve is.

And Jarvis and Bucky- well, Peter thinks if the dog has a second favourite, it would have to be Bucky. He even sleeps in his room. It’s like they have their own other language, just for the two of them. “You’re good with Jarvis,” he points out. 

Bucky half smiles, a little twitch of his lips breaking the typical stoic. “We’re the same. We get on just fine. Tough, built for purpose, and in love with you.”

Peter flushes with pleasure, before they break out into an enormous meadow. It’s their spot.

Soon enough, Bucky is lying in the grass, face tilted up towards the sun as Peter covers him in dandelions. He’s in the middle of making a flower crown- Bucky had resisted the first one, which Peter is now wearing, but he’s gonna make him and even better one when-

_built for purpose._

Violence is a part of their lives. It is, in this line of living. Nearly everyone Peter knows carries a gun. Steve and Bucky carry guns, Tony carries a knife. But that’s because he has people to carry guns for him. It’s part and parcel. But Bucky’s acting like…Peter frowns, leans over and kisses Bucky on the nose. The man opens his eyes and smiles gently, his arm glinting radiantly in the light. “My crown already ready, huh?” He grumbles fondly, sitting up. Peter sets it on him. Prince and Princess of the meadow.

“You are not made to destroy.” Peter whispers, cupping Bucky’s face in his hands. The older man stiffens, but doesn’t move. Their eyes are locked together. “Don’t ever think that, James. You’re the gentlest man I’ve ever known. You were built to love.” He insists.

Bucky’s eyes sparkle, and a lone tear escapes, Peter catches it with his thumb. “Sometimes,” Bucky hisses, and it sounds _wrecked_ and Peter wants to sob. “Sometimes I don’t think I know how.”

“You do,” Peter insists, sniffling, but smiling as earnestly as he can. “Everyday with me. Every single day.”

They fall into an embrace and fall asleep in the dappled sunlight.

When they wake up, their flower crowns are still in tact, and the butterfly has landed on Bucky’s head.

 

Peter loves his life.

How could he not?

His heart is in four pieces. One will always be provided for and protected by his first love, one will always be in perfect harmony with his true love, and one will always be cherished by his great love.

So, when he wakes up suddenly on the kitchen counter, after fainting from seeing a horrible mangled man in the basement and he sees one fucking _Stephen Strange_ looking down at him worriedly-

Well, goddamn it.

Looks like that last piece is gonna have to get used after all.

Last loves are a thing, right?


	5. Stephen Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka Mafia Boss, aka Doctor, aka ex-Partner

**Wow, yes, this is part 5. Can you believe it? I cannot. I hope you enjoy you gorgeous fiends. See part 1[here](https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com/post/181877720930/mafia-boss-tony-x-sugar-baby-peter-x-bodyguard), part 2 [here](https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com/post/181904615715/mafia-boss-tony-x-sugar-baby-peter-x-bodyguard), part 3 [here](https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com/post/181952999505/mafia-boss-tony-x-sugar-baby-peter-x-bodyguards), part 4 here, or the whole thing on ao3 here. **

Stephen smiles when Peter’s eyes flutter open.

He remembers this room. Sure, the style is different now, sure, the walls are a different colour, and maybe that necklace is new, but it’s the same. At the core, it’s the same. Peter’s bedroom looks just the way it did when he first moved in.

The beautiful boy is lying on the bed, and Steve and the man with the silver arm have been kneeling beside him worriedly since they brought him here. Tony is pacing irritatedly and shooting daggers that Stephen can practically feel, while Natasha and Clint perch by the window seat; eyes fixed on Peter.

“Stephen?” Peter murmurs, voice thick and confused and everyone leaps to attention but Stephen, who just smiles and presses his cool hand against Peter’s heated forehead.

“It’s me, Peter. How are you feeling?”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and he’s blinking rapidly against the light. “I don’t…” he shakes his head, “what are you- what are you doing here?”

“What _are_ you doing here?” Tony snaps (like he wasn’t the one who invited Stephen over), shoving him aside and leaning down to take Peter’s hand in his own. “Are you okay, baby? I’m so sorry that you had to see that.”

Recognition and memory come flooding back to the boy and Stephen grits his teeth but takes the mandatory step back as he watches everyone else flock to Peter. He’s jealous, of course. Not with everyone else, because people are useless, but because he can’t be closer.

Still, it’s handy to see these new interactions.

Tony and Peter are as close as they’ve ever been- stronger, if anything. It appears from a simple reading of their body language that Natasha and Clint haven’t been able to get any more than a few pecks, but who are these new additions? Stephen is familiar with Steve Rogers, and if the way he and Tony can communicate wordlessly…it must be something more.

Has Steve replaced him, then? Is that what it is?

But then the ratty man with the metal arm. He’s been the most accommodating, the most eager to help so Stephen tries not to judge too harshly, but still, he’s not blind. And the way Peter leans in to him, mumbling into his ear and how Steve and Tony and this man are all bound around Peter is…it shows intimacy.

Intimacy that Stephen isn’t a part of.

“What are you still doing here?” Tony snaps suddenly, and Stephen raises his eyebrows minutely. “You can go.”

“Daddy,” Peter murmurs, and Stephen’s heart clenches a little.

He’s missed that. He’s missed Peter and Tony. He’s missed the lithe, sexy bundle of pink that swept in and out of every room, that would come and lie across Stephen’s lap and demand to be kissed. He’s missed being loved by those soft brown eyes and that sweet smile.

“He helped Peter,” the metal-armed man points out gruffly, and Tony shoots him a glare. “I don’t know what he did to you, but he…”

“Fine.” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and Stephen is surprised by this. Since when does Tony Stark listen to his underlings? Except- they must not be underlings at all. So, Peter is…with the three of them… “Strange, there’s a guy in the basement who passed onto your turf. You can do what you want with him.”

Oh, that’s why he’s been invited. He clasps his hands and nods perceptively. “You wanted to show me you were good on your alliance.”

Tony looks like he hates that Stephen can still read him (but Stephen can and he always will), but he nods.

“Thank you, Anthony.” He says, and looks around. Steve is peppering kisses onto Peter’s face, and everyone else is almost avoiding looking at the Doctor. He wants to stay but there’s no place for him here anymore. That hurts. It stings more than he’ll ever care to admit. He turns, reaching for his bag, when the sweet voice of his angel carries out softly across the room.

“Stephen? You’re not going, are you?”

He’s torn between a victorious smirk, and a smile of gratitude, and he turns slowly, eyes only for Peter as he shakes his head. “Of course not, darling. Not if you want me here.” He can’t keep the triumph out of his tone though, and Tony hears it. 

“Peter, baby,” Tony murmurs, running his fingers through that fine hair. “You don’t need him-“

“Daddy,” Peter whispers, “can I just talk to him? Just for a second?”

Stephen knows what the answer will be. No one can resist those lashes.

Peter’s grown into his role as the Captain’s Captain, because in a matter of moments it’s just the two of them. Stephen remembers the early days, where Peter had been shy and easing into the bossy little persona that they’d liked so much. He’s grown into it beautifully. There’s silence, as Peter sits up and draws his knees to his chest, looping his hands over them. _Defensive, closed off,_ Stephen thinks. But he ignores it, and he instead walks around the room idly. There’s new perfume on the dressing table, probably new clothes in the wardrobe. He wonders if Tony buys the pastel set of highlighters that Stephen used to have specially shipped in for the boy.

He wonders if Peter’s ever missed him the way he’s missed Peter.

He wonders if Tony’s ever missed him.

“You’re wearing the same suit,” Peter points out, and Stephen looks down in surprise.

The three piece suit- sans blazer, which is still somewhere downstairs- glint in its silk refinery. It hugs him perfectly, and he smiles. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he knows Peter had always liked that. “It’s not the same suit,” he points out gently, “I just like the style.”

“Classy as ever,” Peter quips lightly, but his eyes are shy and there’s a gigantic elephant in the room that Stephen can’t evade forever.

“So,” he sighs, pushing his hands into his pockets and feeling the small gun there. He fiddles with it, trying to squash his nerves. “Steve and the metal arm man.”

“Bucky.” The darling supplies.

“Ah.”

It _is_ like that, then. Peter’s voice is loving and protective. He used to talk about Stephen with that tone of voice. Peter’s with the three of them. Peter huffs a little, and rests his head on his arms, turning to look out the window. “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you.” He confesses.

Stephen’s heart leaps into his throat and he steps towards the bed. “Do you dream about me?”

Peter looks at him levelly. “Do you dream about me?”

“Everyday.” Stephen vows, and Peter looks caught off-guard by the words. “Everyday since I left, Peter. Every single day.”

“Then why-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. He swallows hard. “Why are you back here? Why are you aligning with Tony again? Why are you…why are you back? You _left_. You left everything, you left-“ _Us_ , goes unsaid.

Will the choice haunt him forever? Will his decision stain the rest of his life? Stephen remembers it all too well. He remembers the opportunity to go to Asia, the once-in-a-lifetime chance for all his dreams to come true. Tony hadn’t taken it well, they were parters in the Mafia Trade till the very end, but this was something Stephen wanted- no, he _needed_ to do. He was decided, it was settled.

But then Tony came back one day with Peter in tow.

It had stopped Stephen in his tracks.

For six months the three of them had been inseparable. Love is blessed and fast, and heavy and it sinks into your skin like it’s been there always. Peter was the source of joy and happiness and everything was right.

But opportunity still itched and he still yearned to leave, only it was even harder now, even more painful than before, to leave the two people he cared for most in the world.

Stephen can handle pain.

But now he’s back and the pain seems like…it seems like betrayal. Tony never looks at him without some modicum of distain and Peter pretends like their history isn’t there. Like he’s erased it.

Stephen hasn’t. “I collected things for you,” he says, breathless for some reason, and he sits on the edge of the bed. He remembers when Peter had gone through a phase of only liking yellow, and this room had been an explosion of gold and bronze and Peter was a little ball of sunshine. Yellow may have gone, and pink may have come, but the boy is no less beautiful or enchanting. “From my travels. Something from every country I went to. Things I thought you’d like. There’s a map from India, and a goblet from Nepal, and a necklace from China-“

“I never wanted gifts.” Peter says, and his voice hiccups and Stephen realises with a breaking heart that the boy is _crying_. “We just wanted you.”

They cut him deep, the words. Along with the fact that they’re in the past tense. He has to close his eyes to ward off the tidal wave of crushing torment lest he drown beneath it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, like a sinner in confession. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

There is nothing but the sound of the howling wind outside, and Peter’s choked off little sobs. Stephen wants to reach out and comfort him, but he can’t seem to open his eyes. He sits and lets the hollowness eat him from the inside out and-

Warm, comforting arms wrap around him from behind. He stiffens, feeling Peter’s chest press into his back, and his chin hook over his shoulder and suddenly their cheeks are touching and Peter- he’s still as soft, still smells as sweet as he did before. Like he does in all of Stephen’s dreams. “How will we get Tony to forgive you?” He breathes.

Stephen’s eyes fly open and his jaw drops. He turns, but Peter doesn’t loosen his hold so he has to strain his neck, hands flying up to twine into those lovely fingers. “Peter…” He breathes, like a reverence. 

“You had to go, Stephen,” Peter murmurs, “I just wish you hadn’t. You needed to, I know that. Tony knows that too, somewhere. Deep down. But you left us. Do you know how lonely we were without you? How much we wanted you home?”

He blinks back tears and shakes his head. “You can’t have forgive me, not possibly-“

“I was never angry,” Peter says around a little laugh that sounds almost like a sob. “I was sat. Disappointed. Hurt. But I was never angry with you. How could I be? For following your heart?”

“It wasn’t my heart.” Stephen insists, “my heart is here. With you.” He manages to turn then, breaking the grip and he cups Peter’s face like the most treasured object in the world. “Peter…how are you…how are you _real_?”

The boy smiles, breathtaking and divine, and leans in to press the gentlest kiss on Stephen’s lips.

It sets him alight, like all his senses have come alive at once. How did he ever live without this boy’s touch? He inhales him, leaning in to deepen the press of their lips before the tantalising beauty pulls away. “Tony, Steve and Bucky mean everything to me, Stephen.” He informs him matter-of-factly, “I love them.”

“You love me too?” He asks, to confirm with a frown.

Peter half smiles, and lets his fingers trail across Stephen’s face. Like he’s relearning the lines of him. “I’ve always loved you.”

The words hurt. Stephen knows why. “But not as much as you love them?”

The boy smiles sadly. “Not yet. You’ve been gone for so long, I have to…I have to know you again. And Tony and Steve and Bucky, they have to like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Peter grins, a little cheekily this time, as his hands play with the knot of Stephen’s tie (god he forgot how much Peter liked him in a suit) “I won’t do anything with you, no matter how much I fall in love with you again- unless Tony and Steve and Bucky all like you too.”

Well that is…

That’s a mission.

He decides to start with the easiest one.

* * *

 

Peter straddles Tony as the older man lies face down on the bed and works his deft hands into all the knots of his back. Dusk fills the room with twilight’s glow and Peter admires all the taught muscles of his lover, and how handsome Tony is. He smiles, and drags his hands up to Tony’s neck and into his hair. “You’re getting greys,” he murmurs lovingly, leaning down to press a kiss just behind Tony’s ear. “You look so hot.”

Tony groans, smacking Peter’s leg lightly. “You’re just trying to butter me up. The answer is still no.”

“Daddy,” Peter pouts, lying down so his chest is pressed flush with Tony’s back. The contact makes him shiver. “I’m just asking you to give him a chance. I know he-“

“You know better than to keep asking for this, Peter.” Tony grits out, more harshly this time and Peter feels himself swallow shame at the tone. “I would give you anything in the world, you know that. Don’t push me when I say no.”

Peter nods, sitting up and continuing the massage. He doesn’t speak, keeps his lips pressed together and aches with guilt as the silence stretches between them. He never meant to make his daddy angry, he hates it when his daddy is angry with him, and he hates that he can feel tears start to well up because he’s making this about _him_ again, but his daddy is the one who was hurt and-

“Baby?” Tony asks, lifting his head from the pillow and Peter wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and tries not to let his voice break.

“Yeah, daddy?”

He doesn’t do a good enough job. Tony turns over immediately, his hands lifting Peter up easily as he twists so now Peter’s straddling his front and has to steady himself by splaying his hands out across Tony’s broad chest. He ducks his head down but Tony lifts one of his hands from his waist to tilt his chin up. “Baby,” Tony groans, shaking his head. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Peter insists, tears dripping down his cheeks as he hurriedly tries to wipe them away.

Tony closes his eyes and looks like he’s in pain.

Peter gulps in a few rapid breathes and tries to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he whispers: ashamed. “I know, I know-“

“You have a heart of gold,” Tony says quietly, laying his palm over Peter’s chest. “I love that about you. I love everything about you. But I don’t have a heart of gold. Stephen left us. He betrayed us. There’s no coming back from that.”

Peter should stay quiet. He shouldn’t push any further, but the words slip out anyway. “He doesn’t even get the chance?”

Tony gives him a warning look. “Peter, I said-“

“No, daddy,” Peter snaps, a sudden rush flowing through him. “He loves us-“

“My god, Peter.” Tony growls, “don’t I give you everything? Don’t I give you _everything_ you could ever want-“

“Don’t I give _you_ everything?” Peter yells back, surprising himself with the volume of his voice but he doesn’t care. He won’t lower it. “Don’t I love you? Aren’t I always there for you? Aren’t I always on your side whether you’re right or wrong? If you wanted anything, I would do anything to get it for you. If you don’t talk to someone, I don’t talk to someone.” Hot tears are streaming down his face now, and it’s ludicrous having this conversation with Tony’s hips under his thighs. When they’re pressed so intimately together. “Have I ever- have I ever done anything that I thought could hurt you? Have I ever done anything that has? And if- if you hate getting me things so much, if you’re gonna use them like this in a fight, then I don’t even want them anymore!” He clambers off of Tony, sliding off the bed and towards the door, but before he can even get half way there, a firm hand is on his wrist and he’s being twirled back into a warm, solid chest.

“Baby.” Tony chokes, and as soon as he does, Peter collapses into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, shaking his head and those big, strong arms wrap around him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ It’s all so much and he doesn’t know what to do. 

“No,” Tony says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He rubs his hands up and down his back and lays his cheek on his hair. “No, baby, don’t be sorry. You’re right. You’re right, you’re _good_. You’ve never steered me wrong, you’ve never done anything to hurt me. You care about me so much-“

“I love you,” he insists tearfully and Tony kisses his head, shushing him.

“You’re the best thing in my life, princess. I’m sorry I yelled at you, I’m sorry I said that. And I love buying you things, I love giving you anything your heart desires, you know that. I didn’t mean that. I could never mean anything bad I say to you or about you or- I’m sorry.”

Peter can feel his heart start to slow from the jackrabbit pace of before, and he wraps his arms around his daddy as tight as he can. He knows. He knows that. Tony loves him. They love each other. And Tony loves spoiling him, and Peter loves being spoilt, and Peter and Tony go hand in hand and they always have. “I’m sorry I pushed you about Stephen,” Peter croaks, “I know I shouldn’t have.”

There’s a long, earnest quiet before Tony takes a deep, deep breath. “You’ve never steered me wrong, baby. You’re my lighthouse in stormy seas, you know that.”

“You’re the wind in my sails,” Peter giggles wetly, pecking the underside of Tony’s jaw. He pulls back to look at his face. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll be okay.”

“I know we will.” Tony nods, clearing his throat. “But- Tony, Bucky, Steve- three’s a crowd. Four’s a party.” He licks his lips, steeling himself. “If you want me to give him a chance, he has a chance. He can have a room here for a month, Petey. But after that-“

“I got it.” Peter nods, shaking his head in awe as he kisses Tony again. “You’re too good to me, daddy,”

“You’re too good to me, baby.” Tony growls, hoisting his boy up and tossing him back onto the bed.

Peter hopes Stephen can make this work. It’s not for him. Well, not _just_ for him. Tony needs his best friend back in his life. He may not know how much, but Peter knows.

He wishes Stephen luck.

* * *

 

Stephen doesn’t know what voodoo witchcraft Peter worked on Tony to get him to give him a room to stay in, but it must have been strong. He takes the bedroom he used to stay in, with a small suitcase and a duffel bag full of weapons, for just in case.

All the bedrooms in the mansion are lovely, and there are a great many of them. Stephen’s never been surprised by this. Tony likes to keep the people he cares about close by. He likes to be able to protect them. Stephen used to be one of those people- maybe he can be again, one day. He knows there are bedrooms for Nat and Clint, and probably Bruce too. Though he’s not sure the latter has ever spent the night here.

Bruce is delicate.

Still, he has a mission to get on with, and he knows he has to start with the easiest prey.

Bucky doesn’t know anything about him, thereby, he should be the easiest one to crack. He saunters up to the bodyguard one morning, when Tony and Steve have gone, and Peter is still fast asleep. “Bucky,” he greets as cheerfully as he can, “is that your Christian name?”

The bodyguard looks up slowly, guardedly, from where he’s currently eating a slice of toast. He’s very _sombrely_ eating a slice of toast. He looks very stoic and morose. Stephen’s suddenly not sure how well he’ll respond to sarcasm. That makes something pang with loss inside him, Tony and Stephen had always loved winding Peter up with sarcasm. It had been their thing. “You’re the strange doctor guy.” He says, setting down his toast and offering out a hand (thankfully the non-metal one).

Stephen takes it with a wince. “It’s Doctor Strange, actually. But yes. Please, feel free to call me Stephen.”

Bucky nods.

Silence.

Stephen sighs. “So, how long have you been Peter’s bodyguard?”

“A while now.”

Perfect. Lovely and evasive.

More silence.

Well, this is awful. He might have to call Christine for some tips when his ears pick up on something old and familiar.

_I got that summertime summertime sadness s-s-s-ummertime summertime sadness_

He frowns, looking around the kitchen for source of the very, very quiet music when he suddenly spots the headphones plugged into Bucky’s ipod and sitting on the kitchen counter. He lets out a fond huff as he realises. “I haven’t heard Lana Del Ray in a long time.”

Bucky looks up sharply, hearing it for himself, before hurriedly reaching for the ipod and cramming it into his pocket.

Stephen isn’t deterred. “I found myself humming _Young and Beautiful_ during a torture session.”

This causes a surprised laugh from his companion. “Me too, while I was breaking this guy’s fingers.” Bucky admits gruffly. 

“Have you ever seen Peter karaoke when he’s drunk?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide with awe. “No, is there footage?” He asks eagerly. 

Stephen laughs. “It’s a sight to behold. Or when he’s dancing-“ a thought occurs to him, as he remembers when he and Tony hired the contractor to have the dance studio put in, and he cocks his head. “Does he still dance?”

Bucky nods, taking a large biteful of toast. “He’s been practising for Othello.”

“Is he Desdemona? Cassio?”

“He actually auditioned for Iago.” Bucky says around a smile, “Steve’s got him all excited about villains. It’s a long story, but yeah- he was cast as Desdemona. He was disappointed, but he’s gonna do an amazing job.”

Bucky sounds almost defensive, and Stephen nods his head respectfully. “He will.”

“How do you…know them? Stark didn’t look happy and now you’re living here, and I heard…” he frowns, “I heard yelling, and there’s never any yelling.” He lifts a hand before Stephen can answer. “I’m not asking to pry, and I don’t like gossip. Don’t tell me if ya don’t wanna tell me, but don’t…I don’t know why you’re here and if you want something from me- it’s best to be straight with me.”

Stephen is surprised by the admiration that floods through him. He nods. “Very well, you’re right. I’m here because- Peter won’t let me back into his heart unless the three of you ‘like me’ to quote him exactly.”

The muscular man’s eyebrows raise. “Like you? All three? Wait- into his heart? Where you two-“

“A long time ago.” Stephen says succinctly, “I made a mistake. I regret it. I’m back. I don’t want to air all my dirty laundry.”

“You made a mistake,” Bucky repeats slowly, eyeing Stephen slowly, up and down, like he’s trying to make him out. “And the three are me, Steve and Tony. And you’ve started with me because-“ Bucky chuckles, “because I don’t know a damn thing about you.”

He’s more perceptive than Stephen thought. “Yes, that is correct. What will it take?”

Bucky finishes his toast, and wipes his hands on his trousers before speaking again. “You hurt him? When you left?”

It stings, and Stephen wonders if Bucky intends to torture him for his seat at the table. “I did. A great deal.”

“How did you feel when you hurt him? Did you-“ he looks distraught all of a sudden, like he’s speaking from experience and Stephen is confused. Bucky could never have hurt Peter, Tony would never have allowed him to survive. “How did you feel?”

“I…” he’s a little baffled by the question, but he answers it as gamely as he can. “I felt like I’d taken something good and tried to ruin it. I was…I am, ashamed and disappointed and at a level of self-loathing that isn’t healthy. I know I’ll spend a long time trying to make it up to him, but if he says he forgives me, well…I’ll believe I’m good enough to be a part of his life. I won’t question my presence there.”

Bucky turns it over a few times, before nodding. There’s approval in his eyes. “You ever go hunting?” He says eventually.

Stephen smirks. “What’s your prey?”

“Part of a rival gang. Tony clean up.”

Stephen’s fingers itch, gun happy. “What about Peter?”

Bucky looks very, very pleased with this question. “Clint’s coming over.” He sounds mildly displeased with this.

He understands immediately. “Just by watching,” he begins, “Peter looks at you, Steve and Tony with one type of gaze, and Clint, Nat and all the others with another. There is no competition. There will never be.”

“Ya think?”

“I know. Even if he did- Clint is a player, he’d never be able to stick to one, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but if you ever flirt with anyone, Peter’ll bare his teeth and they are sharp.”

“They are?” Bucky murmurs, a little excited at the prospect. “I mean- not that I’ll ever test it-“

“Why would you?” Stephen grins, “you always go in with the game plan to flirt with someone else to make him jealous but you forget anyone exists the second he fits you with that look of his. And Nat? There’s something about dangerous women who like the delicacy of Peter. It’s the same with my second- Christine. She talks about him all the time. It’s harmless, but still, if they wanna fantasise, let them. It’s pretty hot, anyway. Picture him all strung out between two beautiful women, played like a harp.”

“Are you talking about me?” Peter says around a yawn as he sweeps into the kitchen. Both men turn to him immediately and are greeted to a Peter who clearly spent the night with Steve, if the oversized tee he’s wearing is anything to go by. It cuts off just below the swell of his ass and shows a peak of the sky blue panties underneath. He immediately goes to Bucky and tiptoes for a kiss.

Bucky gives it to him, but he’s clearly shy with Stephen standing there, and he pulls away bashfully.

Peter has no such shame. He winks and goes to the fridge and Stephen thinks that this could all be different in a month. Peter could be kissing him too.

“All good things, bambi,” Bucky promises and Stephen blinks. _Bambi_ , huh.

“That’s good,” Peter grins airily, bending over to give an insanely tempting view of his ass as he reaches for the juice to go with the pancakes that Maria prepared earlier. He pours a glass before he takes the pancakes from the oven eagerly, seeing the chocolate chips and licking his lips and Stephen tries to hide his smile. Some things never change.

“Stevey is obsessed with blue on you,” Bucky murmurs as Peter hops onto the breakfast bar and starts eating.

He nods, “pink for me, red for daddy, blue for Steve, why won’t you just pick a colour?” He asks around his mouthful and Bucky laughs. Peter turns to Stephen and his eyes are kind. “You always liked white,” he recalls, and Stephen nods.

“My little angel,” he agrees, remembering Peter decked out in white lace, or white silk, or white panties and thongs, that one time he’d worn a garter around his thigh like a little bride and Stephen had practically lost his mind. Tony had always liked red, Peter as a little devil: whiny, petulant, begging for daddy’s cock. Stephen thinks that had looked pretty fucking fantastic too.

Peter blushes a little, and scoops a forkful of pancake into his mouth. He wordlessly offers some to Bucky, who refuses the first time, and then shyly takes some the second time, and Peter winks at Stephen. “One day, if you do this right, you can get share pancakes too.” He says, like incentive. Like Stephen could possibly need any more incentive. 

“I look forward to it.” He promises, pouring himself some coffee. God, he’s missed this kitchen. He knows where everything goes and it feels like home. He doesn’t have much time to dawdle down memory lane though, before Peter is saying he’ll miss Bucky today, and wishing them fun on their hunting trip, ~~how did he know?~~

And then Clint is arriving.

Stephen sure is glad he doesn’t have to win over Clint too, because he doesn’t think he’d have succeeded. He gives his best smile, and Clint swears at him, before heading to Peter and announcing that he has a new game they could play on the xbox.

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t really like to judge anyone. He knows everyone is a lot more than the way they seem on the outside. Just look at Tony, or Bucky, or Peter. He’d had views on all of them at first, and they were all proved wrong. He loves them all dearly.

He doesn’t want to think anything bad about Stephen Strange, but he’s never seen Tony have such trouble with anyone before. At one moment he’s desperate to uphold their alliance, and the next he’s glaring at the man like he’d like him to drop dead. Peter too, seems to hover somewhere been familiarity and aloofness. And now the man is living with them and Steve can’t really make sense of it.

He knows he heard Peter and Tony arguing the other night. It had twisted his stomach into knots and he hadn’t been able to sleep right. He’d asked Tony about it the next day, and Tony had told him it was _okay now, Rogers, don’t worry, but there might be some guy in a black suit moving in for a while._

Stephen had arrived the next day.

Steve doesn’t do anything about it. He continues to protect Tony, and then comes home to Peter.

Peter is asleep now, and Steve closes the book and leans down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before he silently eases out of the bedroom.

His soul almost leaves his body when he sees Strange standing there, all innocence and enquiry. “Captain,” he says softly, “may I have a word?”

The use of his codename is a little disconcerting considering they don’t know each other that well, but Steve nods anyway, and they walk side by side down the corridors. He’s pretty much figured out this immense house by now, and they stroll aimlessly down the endlessly hallways into sparser, but no less beautiful sections, decorated and ornated with gold and silver. “Mr Strange.” He nods, after a while of walking and no words being exchanged. “Are you alright?”

“Bucky tells me you’ve converted Peter to villains.” He says, and Steve laughs in surprise.

“I just told him that he was much more than the pretty damsel. He could play more complex characters, and he can. He was cast opposite Ophelia in Swan Lake and he was incredible.”

“I imagine he was.” Stephen drawls, “he always is.”

Yeah, Peter is. Steve feels warm all over as he remembers a few hours ago. Him and Peter snuggled up with popcorn, _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ playing and Peter had kissed him slow and sweet. They’d made out like teenagers, hands strictly waist-and-up but somehow, unbearably hot. He also remembers a few nights ago- the first time the four of them had shared a bed, how Bucky’s hands on him had felt, hearing Tony’s groans and seeing Peter like a vision of sex spread out before them-

“You love him.”

Steve glances at Stephen curiously, but he nods. “Completely.” He declares, because he could shout his love for Peter Parker from the rooftops. Peter is the other half of his soul. But Stephen’s observation isn’t really a question, it’s a statement, and Steve realises now. It’s impossible, really, not to love Peter Parker. But the history- ever present and hovering- “you love him too.” He realises. That’s why Stephen’s here. 

Stephen’s lip twitches, and he nods. “I do. This is me trying to get a chance to win him back.”

The four of them and Peter. Steve lets himself picture it for a moment. Tony and Stephen running the Mafia, Steve and Bucky as bodyguards. Stephen’s people added into the gang. One big, cohesive unit working. In his head, it seems a little bit like family. Sure, with gangs and guns and sex but- _family_. “What if you leave them again?” He asks, more puzzled than insulting. “How can they ever trust that you won’t?”

“I’ve learnt.” Stephen insists, unoffended. “If you know what leaving them is like- you would never do it again.”

Steve doesn’t think he’d do it in the first place, but like he says, he doesn’t like to judge. But- four people. He feels like he always craves more of Peter as it is. “How would we…” he sighs, unsure how to word it, “how would-“

Stephen understands. “From the way I understand it now,” he begins, voice soothing, “Bucky spends the days with him, you the evenings, and Tony’s the nights. If Bucky took the afternoons, I could take the mornings. I’m an early riser.” He smiles, and Steve hums thoughtfully. “It’s not a timetable though, is it, Captain? Peter takes who he would like, and we all co-exist knowing that he would love us all equally. Maybe sometimes all four of us could…” he tips his head and Steve flushes a little.

There’s no denying that Stephen is attractive. And Tony is too, and Bucky…Bucky makes his mouth water. All of them with Peter in one bedroom is almost enough to break his mind.

Stephen seems to see this, and he claps him on the shoulder. “What do I have to do to earn your approval, then?”

Steve frowns. “What?”

“For your acceptance?”

“You don’t-“ he shakes his head, comprehension dawning. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me, Mr Strange. Peter clearly wants you here. As long as Tony says yes, I’ll be fine with it.”

Stephen mulls this over. “You’re a lot like Peter, Captain.”

Steve smiles. It’s a comparison he’ll take any day.

* * *

 

“And how are your classes?” Stephen insists eagerly, as he and Peter walk through the New York sunshine. “Are you still top of the class in everything? What modules are you taking?” He’s eager and keen to find out everything about this boy he left behind.

Peter laughs, a thing of beauty in his white sweater and denim jeans. Stephen feels possessive pride flow through him at the looks the boy gets. It’s absurd because Peter- Peter isn’t even _part_ his yet, but he will be. Stephen will make sure of it. He’s wearing his own black three piece suit, the gold chain of the pocket watch glinting just because he likes the way Peter’s eyes linger here and there.

The boy needs variation. Steve and Bucky are huge, muscular beasts, and Tony is a broad, tightly wound god, and Peter needs a lean mean thinking machine, like Stephen.

“My journalism module is my favourite,” he beams, “and yes, I did actually come top,” the blush on his cheeks is endearing. He is, at heart, still the same boy who walked into the mansion with Tony all those years ago, in his muddy jeans and his shy smile and Stephen had fallen instantly. “It was nice, you know? Especially knowing that Tony hadn’t bribed anyone for my grade.” He adds, winking.

Stephen tuts fondly. “Does he still do that?”

“Only if the professor gives me a B in our mock,” he laughs, and Stephen smiles.

“He just wants all the best things for you.”

“He is the best thing for me.” Peter insists, “he’s always given me everything I could ever need. Including your chance.”

“You are a miracle worker.” Stephen insists, his hand on the small of Peter’s back as he leads him down a different set of streets. He has somewhere special in mind. “How you ever managed to even get him to consider it is magic.”

Peter shakes his head, his voice gentle. “He needs you more than he knows. He’s running this thing alone, he has been for so long. You did it together. You’re partners.”

Stephen feels anguish tear through him for a moment. Some partner he is. “I need him too,” he whispers instead, because life is meaningless without Peter Parker, but it’s significantly darker without Tony Stark.

Peter leans into his side and Stephen holds him tight. They turn onto an even brighter street and Peter squeals excitedly, reaching for the black sunglasses as he puts them on. They’re oversized, but very expensive and oddly familiar and-

“Tony lent me his sunglasses! He never lends them to me, but look! Do I look cool?”

“Probably the furthest thing from cool.” Stephen teases, dropping a kiss onto his head. Peter sticks his tongue out at him, and Stephen feels something warm clench tight in his chest. It feels _right_ , being back here. He never should have left.

When they get to the museum, Peter stops in his tracks. The sunglasses slip down his face and reveal his chocolate eyes, large and disbelieving. Stephen is very, very glad he went to Mordo for advice.

He swallows nervously and steps to the side. “Do you like it?” He asks.

Peter’s eyes drag from the museum to him, and he stares on in amazement. “Do I like it?” He repeats, awe-struck, “this is…this is an exhibit on Russian History, Stephen. That’s my- that’s my-“

“Favourite type of history,” Stephen finishes, chuckling, “I know, sweetheart.”

“I don’t-I can’t-“

“You wanted to take it as a module in your first year of college, but the timetabling clashed and you were so upset. And I got you this book on the Romanov’s and you practically devoured it.”

Peter takes the sunglasses off completely and his face is soft with love. “You remember all that?” He whispers, and Stephen nods, stepping forward to cup his face in his hand.

“I remember everything about you. And I know you don’t want them, but the presents- the things I collected for you all across Asia, they’re all…they’re all for you, Peter. I got them because they reminded me of you, it was never some attempt to win you back.”

“Oh, Stephen,” he whispers, leaning in for a hug and Stephen collects the boy into his arms and holds him tight.

They spend the whole day there. The two of them had always bonded over their love of history, but this is something different. It’s a building excitement and passion as they bounce off each other’s energy. Peter giggles as Stephen corrects the museum tour guide who clearly is inept, and Stephen can barely contain his pride when Peter correctly dates every painting. They travel through from Alexander to Nicholas and from revolution to revolt, and then they buy matching tote bags from the museum gift shop as late evening beckons them home and Stephen vows never to use his because it is hideous and Peter just laughs and declares that they have to use it everyday.

Are there such a thing as perfect moments in life? The sky is a deep, dark lavender, and Peter is sweaty and flushed and a little sunburnt, and Stephen’s suit is wrinkled and his pocket watch says it’s time they go home. The streets are bare and dusty, and everything is sprinkled with the coat of the past, and they’re high on the glorious history of ancient dynasties and they can’t kiss, so instead- they hold hands.

Stephen’s never felt so steady. Never felt so grounded. Never felt so much like he belongs.

Are there such a thing as perfect moments? Stephen’s not sure, but if there aren’t- then today is probably as close as one can ever get. 

* * *

 

Tony is the toughest nut to crack.

The first step was easy, the second somehow easier, and the third completely impossible. There’s no way.

But still, with hope and fear and resignation all rolled into one, he steps into Tony’s study. This room too, he knows too well. Tony looks up. It’s late, past midnight, and the mansion is quiet. Tony looks up.

He’s just as handsome as Stephen remembers, more so. He ages like the fine wines down in the cellar, the hints of silver in his hair and the cocky lines around his eyes and the gravitas that follows him around- he’ll be handsome forever, Stephen thinks. He wants to see Tony bending Peter over this desk, wants to see the image the two of them make- hot as anything, perfect-

“So, you got past the dynamic duo,” Tony surmises dryly, turning back to his work, “well, let me save you the hassle. There’s no point trying.”

Stephen sighs, closing the door as he takes a seat opposite Tony. “You told Peter you would give me a chance.” He points out, “this is poor sportsmanship, Tony. Even for you.”

Tony looks at him incredulously. “Really? You think insulting me is the best way to get through this? That’s stupid, even for you.”

“Funny, I seem to recall our motto always being: beauty and brains. Me being both, of course.”

“I see your time away really taught you some humility.”

“It did, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. To leave. Anytime.”

Stephen can’t help his smile. It’s so… _them_. It’s the Tony and Stephen that met in an underground game of poker one night when they were both barely twenty. It’s the Tony and Stephen who pulled off heists on men way more powerful than them. It’s the two of them, best friends- brothers, and it feels so good to be back here with him. He spies Tony’s mouth pull up in a little smile too, before it disappears. Stephen sighs, and can’t look at him when he starts to talk. He looks instead, out of the window, into the dark, star filled sky. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I don’t wanna hear it-“

“Leaving you and Peter was the biggest mistake of my life. But I felt like I had to go. I blame no one but myself. There was something inside me- something that told me that I had to go and see the world. That I had to find something within myself that was lost. I know now that was just my fear. My restlessness. I’d found myself in a routine, in a pattern, with you and then in those last few months, with Peter- I was scared. I was scared and-“ the truth burns like venom as he pours it out, “and I wanted to run. In truth, I’m a coward. You were always the braver of the two of us. I missed you everyday. You’re my- you’re my brother, Anthony. I would die for you and I know you know that.” He looks to Tony suddenly, unable to bear not seeing his reaction.

The other man is staring at the desk, still as a statue.

“I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged,” Stephen whispers, continuing, “the way I have with you and Peter. And I know things have changed, and I know it’s different now, but- but I’d never leave again. And-and Steve, and Bucky- Steve’s probably the most supportive man on the planet, and Bucky is quite clearly a flower-child and I don’t know how you do it. How you find the people who are so _lost_ , who need a family and you- you’ve created one, and I’m just…I’m asking for the honour of being part of it again.” His eyes feel wet, and the tears sting a little, but he doesn’t dare shed them.

Tony is trembling, and he gets to his feet slowly. “I…” Stephen holds his breath, swallowing hard, “I have to feed Jarvis.”

“What?” Stephen asks, bewildered, watching as Tony leaves the room. He leaps to his feet to follow him and soon they’re in the kitchen as Tony tries to set the dish down, but Jarvis keeps jumping and baring his teeth and Tony keeps flinching back. 

“C’mon- calm down- Jesus-“ Tony grunts, as the dog snaps its teeth like it wants to challenge an alpha. 

“Here, let me do it,” Stephen sighs, reaching for the bowl, “he likes me.” He’s not one for animals, really, but Jarvis is sweet enough, just in a growling mood for some reason, and he sets the bowl down easily.

When he straightens, Tony is staring at him with parted lips.

“What?” Stephen frowns self-consciously, and Tony just nods and hauls him in for a hug.

“You leave again, I’ll slit your throat,” he hisses into Stephen’s ear.

Stephen hugs him back.

It’s the most loving thing he’s ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part 5, my gorgeous, gorgeous friends. If for some reason you want more in this series, just let me know and I would be honoured to. If you think this was a pretty good ending, that’s fine too :) I love you all so much for the support and encouragement you’ve given me and i am so utterly in awe of you all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is being posted on here from tumblr. Come check me out at [starkerforlife6969](https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com) where you can find this fic, along with numerous other starker, winterspider, spidershield drabbles , aesthetics for this fic made by a whole range of incredibly talented people I definitely do not deserve and other things. 
> 
> I'm always open to ideas and prompts, so lemmie know down below


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